


like a hell-broth boil and bubble

by Zercalo



Series: double, double toil and trouble [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Christmas, Courtship, Full Moon, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mystery, alternative realm travel, ritualistic murders, rituals and ceremonies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2018-05-20 19:09:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 63,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6021547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zercalo/pseuds/Zercalo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hogwarts might be facing dark times again, but outside of its walls, life goes on. </p><p>For now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

Peter shows up just a minute after the door closes after Derek. He pulls a map from somewhere for Stiles to show him the location of his hometown. They walk out of the castle, and across the yard. Peter's got Stiles school trunk over one shoulder, like it's made from foam. It's a cold day, there's a fresh layer of snow on the ground.

“I think it's safe to assume the teacher Derek's been seeing is Kate Argent, then.”

Oh, that's so unfair. Lightly, Stiles tells him, “If it isn't true, your assumption will make you look like an ass.”

Peter smiles, tight-mouthed. “I'll take that risk, small as it is. Derek's own inability to hide anything once her name came up, your dislike of her is rather telling.”

Stiles swallows the first impulse to tell him he's been disliking Kate since well before he knew. “What's your point?”

“I am curious. Do you think she's done this?”

Stiles stumbles in his effort to take a good look at Peter's face, check if he's seriously asking. “I'm – I don't want to think that anyone I've ever met is capable of this.”

“But?”

But... “This morning, I was so sure she was behind the poisoning. I'd still believe that, easily. But what if that was just a distraction to grab the kids and... What if someone was counting on everyone looking first at Kate?”

“So you don't think it's her.”

“I don't know. I wouldn't hang her just yet.”

“We don't have to wait for the verdict on the murders for that. I'll hang her – claw her open – just for putting her filthy hands on my nephew.”

It'd be nice to be able to pretend it's a joke, but Stiles can't. He can feel in every calm, carefully chosen word that this is exactly what will happen to Kate, if Peter gets to her.

He says, “But not before you find out if it was her or not.”

“Really,” Peter says softly.

“Your nephew – and your niece – are still supposed to come back to Hogwarts after the break. And if Kate wasn't the one who did this...” They'll be in danger. They will all be in danger. “Have you seen her? After we met her this morning?”

“No. Unfortunately.”

Well, the fortune of it is questionable. “From what I know about Kate Argent, she's a little – impulsive, I guess. And mean. But she's not stupid, and whoever did this, whoever killed these kids – this was planned. It would mean she chose the distraction that could be connected to her family on purpose and I'm just not sure she'd do that.”

“Depends on the end goal,” Peter says thoughtfully. “Depends on what these sacrifices were offered for.”

“So they are sacrifices.”

“Yes, I believe so. What kind, for what purpose – I'll have to look through my library. But there is no doubt that the murders are symbolic and ritualistic in nature, and that powerful magic happened in that theater early this morning.”

“It has something to do with Hogwarts. It's like, it's tied to the very foundation of it.”

“Curious choice of words,” Peter says. They’re beyond the wards, on the road to Hogsmeade. “This is far enough. Hold onto me and think hard of a secluded place near your house you think might be convenient to materialize to and involves the least fuss.”

This is actually easy enough to do, because Stiles' house opens in the back into an old orchard. He's a bit nervous his focus will slip, but he's read about this spell. It's quick, if very hard to do.

He takes Peter by the arm and closes his eyes, thinking as hard as he can manage about the dark wood and reflection of his window, the angle of it, the way it looks like from the orchard. A personal earthquake unsettles his stomach and makes him lose his footing for a second, and then Peter is talking again.

“Right place?”

Stiles looks around, then up at his house. They're exactly where he's pictured them. “Yeah. Yeah, this is me.”

“And your trunk,” Peter says, lowering it from his shoulder with amazing ease. “I'd like to meet your father, if that's possible.”

“I'm not sure what shift he's on, but we can go in and check,” Stiles offers.

They walk up to the house. “He's home,” Peter announces before Stiles can dig up his key. “In - the kitchen, I guess.”

Dad comes to the door to answer the bell in pajamas and with Stiles' huge cocoa mug filled with coffee. He grabs Stiles into a hug – this is officially the day Stiles has got the most hugs in history – forehead crinkled in that way that means he's worried and hates that Stiles is so far away most of the time.

“You okay, kid?” he asks quietly. “Trouble?”

Stiles swallows against his shoulder. “Sort of, yeah. I mean, not with me. Just trouble at school, so we get to start the break early.”

“You've grown taller,” dad says after he takes a good look at him. “How'd you managed that? You've only been away for three months.”

“Magic,” Stiles says, wiggling his fingers, because dad always smiles when he does. “Dad, this is Peter Hale. He was kind enough to take me home – through a shortcut. No train.”

They shake hands, eying one another warily.

“Shortcut?” dad asks.

Peter says, “Side-apparition,” like he's seriously expecting that'll mean anything to John Silinski.

“Like teleportation,” Stiles explains. “Star Trek style – it's grown-up magic. They don't let me do that on my own.”

“Good, I don't fancy getting you back home from Nigeria, where all the chances are you'd wind up. Come on in, Mr. Hale. Coffee?”

Peter decides to risk it despite Stiles frantic head shake. They go into the bright, clean kitchen – obviously dad hadn't bothered to occasionally fry even an egg in there. Stiles whispers, under his breath, “Told you so” when Peter makes a startled, inelegant noise at the first sip of coffee. Come on, like he couldn't smell how strong that killing brew is before they've even entered the house.

“You wanted to see where your daughter will come to stay, I guess?”

“His daughter is only, like, ten,” Stiles interjects immediately. “Too young for Hogwarts. Cora is his niece, dad.”

“Niece, then.”

“I wasn't aware Cora was planning to spend time here, though I don't see a problem with that. If anything, I was worried about Derek.”

This is so on purpose, Stiles can't help but gape at Peter. What the heck is he up to?

“Derek,” dad repeats slowly, obviously trying to remember.

“Yes,” Peter says, sipping the coffee without a change in expression now. “My nephew. Your son's boyfriend.”

Dad raises his eyebrows. He doesn't look upset – not that Stiles has expected him to be - just I'm missing something here puzzled. Stiles hurries to reassure him, “It's new. Very new. Like, today new, okay? I would have told you.”

“Alright. I think I need – real pants for this conversation.”

Dad goes out of the room with a slight frown, and Stiles turns to Peter. “If he starts on about condoms and – and lubricants, I swear to God, I will burst your eardrums. I know how, I'll do it.”

“Knowing about lubricants is never a bad idea, Stiles,” Peter tells him.

“Which is why there are books! And the internet! And also, you butt your head in where it doesn't belong, okay? When and how I talk to my father about Derek is my choice.”

“As long as you do. But you obviously haven't yet.”

“When, exactly, was I supposed to find the time to talk to him, are you nuts?”

“The bite you're carrying is several weeks old, at least.”

“Only, no one's bothered to explain to me what it means that it's not healing, okay. And while your werewolf mojo is all fine and helpful, I'm human. I'm gonna need a human kind of acknowledgment before I go around announcing a relationship to my dad!”

“A human kind of acknowledgment? Like what?”

“Like, I don't know! Well, kissing comes to mind!”

Peter leaves his empty mug on the table, frowns. “What, exactly, were you two doing when that bite happened?”

“Um, arguing,” Stiles admits. Peter's assumption they'd been doing something more intimate makes perfect sense, though. It's not hard to imagine a bite like that happening accidentally in the heat of the moment, control and teeth slipping. It’s probably what all the Hales think has happened. A make-out session that went too far.

“Arguing,” Peter repeats, like he's not quite sure how, exactly, that word fits into the conversation.

“Well, it was for his own good!”

“I see,” Peter says, still somewhat blank. “May I take a look at the bite?”

The very thought of showing it off to Peter makes Stiles blanch a little, irritation running up his spine, but he grits his teeth. It's on his neck, not on his butt. It's not exactly painful to just point your chin to the side.

Peter doesn't touch him, but he inhales deeply near Stiles' neck before retreating. “That's – barely a scrape.”

Feeling a little defensive, Stiles says, “But it's not healing.”

“No, it's not. And it smells ripe.”

“Ugrh, way to make it sound disgusting. Derek didn't make it sound like it's something bad.”

“You don't understand,” Peter says gently, seriously. “There's nothing bad in a start of a courtship, even at your age. It doesn't even matter if it works out or not in the end. The process still brings a lot of joy to the pack. And for the bite to take on so little between the two of you, it's rare. Not unheard of, just rare. It makes me think it'll be epic to witness, whichever way it goes. That's all.”

“Epic,” Stiles repeats. Nothing about his crush on Derek has ever seemed epic to him. So many people are on the same boat. And it's not like Derek took one look at him and dropped Kate instantly. He shakes his head. “You're wrong.”

“We'll see,” Peter says evenly. “Your father is coming back.”

Dad indeed comes back, dressed in his uniform. “Just to make sure – we're talking about the guy who saved you from the fire on Halloween?”

“He didn't save me from it, I didn't need any saving, okay, it was only a tiny little fire!” At his father's raised eyebrows, Stiles gives up. “Yeah. Him.”

Dad nods, asks, “The guy who made the blackberries?”

“He didn't make the blackberries, dad, he found them. But, er, yep. That's him.”

“Well, I guess you can do worse than someone who can take care of you if you two ever get lost in the wild.”

Stiles snickers. Derek could feed him, and carry him home if needs be and fight off all the wild animals that come after them while he's in the middle of those two. Though he wouldn't have to, because Stiles would have his wand. “I'm glad you approve. I guess.”

Peter leaves soon after that, but not before making sure to personally invite dad to crash the Hales' Christmas. Stiles wants so badly to show real magic to his dad that he doesn't even care much that they'll be maybe ruining their day – but Derek's dad also said it's okay. Once Peter is gone, dad sits at the table and patiently waits until Stiles makes himself warm cocoa. When there's nothing left to procrastinate with, Stiles takes the place across the table.

“So?” Dad asks. “What happened at school?”

Mindful to tame the story just a smidgen where Cora is concerned, Stiles tells him about the previous night and that morning.

*

Scott lives too far away to visit on holidays, and neither of them has an owl, which means they usually exchange gifts before they board the train. Stiles has left early this time, so they haven't done that. Fortunately, Cora's owl, Arlene, keeps coming back to Stiles' house like it's her home. She hunts her own food, just flies out in the night and comes back sated, which is also fortunate because Stiles isn't sure how would his small town take it if he suddenly started buying dozens or however many mice every week.

Stiles spends a lot of his time combing through his small collection of books for any and all information on human sacrifices and Hogwarts founders. There's barely any info on it, but he keeps looking for it, obsessively, because the faces of those kids keep flashing in front of his eyes. He can't wait to get back to Hogwarts and go through the library there.

The aurors come to ask him questions on his second day at home. There's two of them, a man and a woman. Both are dressed flawlessly like muggles – in identical black suits. In fact, they are two pairs of sunglasses from being able to pass as extras in the Men in Black movies. The questions they ask are short and few. Mostly they want to know if Stiles and Derek cast any magic that could mess with their investigation, and if they'd moved anything. The whole thing doesn't take more than five minutes altogether. It's underwhelming.

The only somewhat exciting thing that happens before Christmas is Lydia Martin. She lives at the other end of the street, in a large white house. Stiles had a huge crush on her when they were together in school. She's in her second year of high school now, beloved and on the top of the food chain – or so Stiles imagines.

Last winter break, she threw a huge New Year's party. Stiles was invited, he found his printed-out invitation in the mailbox about a week in advance. Everyone who is anything in their little town was invited – plus a bunch of people from her school in London - and being the son of the local police chief has its merits. He went, for the lack of anything else to do and for the chance to maybe get to know Lydia. It got boring quickly. He didn't know anyone there well enough to talk to and she was busy, so he was in his own bed long before midnight.

The first time he got a chance to actually talk to her since their science project from back when they were eight – and which they rocked without any help from parents – was last summer. They were both at the local pharmacy, waiting in line. She spoke to him first, asked him to remind him where he went to school now. The last thing Stiles expected that day was a conversation with Lydia Martin, so he told her 'up north' and ran. Hogwarts is hard to explain away, especially to people who have the access to the Internet and might try to google it.

And now Lydia's here, on his doorstep.

Dad's at work, so Stiles answers the door himself. One look at her perfectly put together appearance makes him look underdressed in his plain, loose clothes, but Lydia just smiles her very pretty – and very fake – smile at him.

“Hello, Stiles,” she says.

“Lydia. Hi.”

She hands him a white envelope. “You ignored my invitation last year, so I've decided to come by and personally invite you this time. I'm throwing a party on the 31th. You should come.”

A thing Stiles knows about Lydia from worshiping her from afar is that while yes, she gets everything she wants, it's not because it falls into her lap. It's because she works doggedly until it's in her hands. What she wants from him, he's not sure. But it's something that's been on her mind since last summer, when she spoke to him first, so she'll be very determined to get it.

He doesn't correct her about not showing up last year. He didn't stay very long, after all.

“Okay,” he says, opening the invitation on the spot. “Thanks.”

She gives him another smile and turns to leave. He's not sure if he'll go or not, so he doesn't promise he will. Cora might be over, anyway.

Huh.

“Hey, Lydia,” he calls her back. “A friend will be staying with me for a part of the break– can she come along?”

“Of course,” Lydia says. “Girlfriend?”

“A girl, definitely,” he laughs, remembering fondly Scott and Allison's teasing that's now stopped. “But just a friend.”

“Well, that might change at the party,” Lydia says. It's – she's teasing, joking with him.

Stiles grins, rubbing his neck, “That'd be super weird, since I'm sort of dating her brother.”

And he's managed to stun Lydia Marin into gaping like a fish – albeit a very attractive fish – for a second before she finds her words. “Sort of dating?”

“There haven't been any, uh, actual dates yet. Just...” the biting, but Stiles is happy enough to let Lydia assume he means other things, waving his hand vaguely.

Lydia gives him another smile, this one a lot closer to honest. “Bring him along, too, if you want. But Stiles, don't be anyone's dirty little secret - it's not worth it.”

With that piece of ironic advice, Lydia leaves.

*

Late last night, after the modest, meat-free Christmas Eve dinner, Stiles sent Arlene out with the gifts. Now that he's had an owl at his disposal, he's managed to figure out how the owl order works – though they keep sending him their catalogs now. The gifts are tragically plain, but he likes to think they're at least playful and/or thought out. A quidditch book for Scott – because let's face it, that's the only way he'd ever read a book. It's about obscure, old-fashioned chaser tactics, so it should keep him entertained. He's sent along chocolate pills for Melissa. They're perfect to carry on her at work at the hospital and an instant gratification snack for after a hard patient. They're even coffee flavored – Stiles thinks it's pretty good, for the budget he's had to work with. Allison gets an actual book, Starship Troopers, because it's a classic, a great way to introduce her to science fiction, and he's pretty sure she'll like it.

To Cora, he got an adorable mug that says 'my best friend has paws' which is basically a proclamation of friendship disguised as a werewolf joke. She'll dig it. He put in a card for the rest of the family with her gift, honestly wishing them all the best.

To Derek, because Stiles is a fifteen year old virgin with a lingering grudge, he's sent an instruction manual. It's called, How to Have Public Sex (And Not Get Caught), which the cover isn't ashamed of proclaiming in bold red letters. He hasn't had the time to look through it, so he isn't sure how much of it will actually apply to Derek, but the point is in the title, anyway.

Derek really should have used his chance and kissed the leftover bad feelings about Kate all better and away. Stiles rubs his neck, where the tiny cut is still itching a slightest bit. There's time, apparently. He'll learn better.

On the Christmas morning, Stiles gets out of his bed earlier than ever, before it gets light out. He makes French crepes for breakfast and fills them with melted raspberry Honeydukes chocolate. Magic or whatever has kept the fruit inside fresh, so it's like it was just picked from the bush.

Scott and Allison have sent a packet late last night, and Stiles tears into it over the kitchen table, as dad makes lazy morning noses shuffling to the bathroom and back. The two of them seemed to have pooled funds and made Melissa join in, to buy him a foe-glass. There a lot of worry behind that gift, probably because they think Kate killed those kids and they know about his argument with her. It couldn't possibly be cheap – despite all the best he's sure Scott and Melissa wish for him, Allison must have bore the brunt of the cost.

“What's that?” dad asks sleepily.

He sticks his finger into melted chocolate and licks it off, so he's obviously not wondering about the crepes. “It's a dark-detector. It's supposed to show me the faces of my enemies.”

“And? Does it?”

The glass is blank at the moment. “Nope. I guess I have no enemies.”

“Or that thing doesn't work?”

“I don't know, dad, Allison got it. Her dad is a magical artifacts dealer, if anyone can find a working magical item, should be her.”

Dad takes the glass, looks at it. “Huh. No reflection.”

They inspect it further between the bites, fascinated with how the glass catches reflection of the furniture, but not the two of them. A shadowy figure shows in it only at one point, when both of them are holding it at the same time, but it's too murky to make out – a man, though, definitely, tall and slightly hunched. Stiles thinks it must be an enemy of his dad's, maybe a criminal with a grudge or something, but the glass needs his magic to show it. It worries him, but what cop doesn't have an enemy? Anyway, it's just a distant shadow – there's no immediate danger.

A small owl comes through the unhatched window first. It's a simple card from Erica. Stiles has forgotten about her, in all honesty – not that he could have afforded to buy another gift. He has a set of empty Christmas cards he's bought in the post office last winter, issued by Unicef for a Christmas charity. He picks the one that looks the least like printed out child's drawing – it's a close-up of colorful tree ornaments. He'll have to find out when her birthday is and make up for this misstep.

“Where's mine?” Dad asks after the little owl flies away and Stiles presses the window against the frame without hatching it. Dad's present consists mostly of sweets Stiles' managed to pick up on the weekends. It's because he knows they are extra delicious just because they are made with the help of magic but don’t require any from the person consuming them, so it's a benefit of having a magical son that his father can actually enjoy.

Stiles got an idea from Cora for the other part of the gift. More accurately, from her talk about her brother Nate. He went back to Hog's Head Inn a few weeks ago and wasn't too surprised when the bartender sold him a bottle of mead without a second glance.

Dad uncaps it and sniffs it curiously now. It's too early for alcohol, even on the Christmas day, so he doesn't pour it, but he looks intrigued, so it's all good.

It's not Arlene who brings gifts from the Hales, it's their family's huge eagle owl. It looks larger and more dangerous in their small kitchen than it ever has in the Great Hall. Stiles smartly lets it inspect their breakfast for anything edible as soon as he unties the packages. Dad gets up to pour it some water.

There are three packages addressed to Stiles and one for his dad.

“Well,” Dad says. “I'm glad you listened to my advice and found yourself a rich boyfriend.”

“When did you ever give me that advice?” Stiles wonders, a little nervous. He's suddenly having second thoughts about sending Derek that book.

Dad doesn't have an anxiety attack, so he opens his present first. There's another bottle in there, but unlike Stiles', it looks old and foreign – and he's pretty sure the label is gilded. He itches to grab his wand and check if it is, because it's a spell he actually knows.

Dad doesn't open this one, just puts it inside the glass cupboard under the window. Anyone who walks into their kitchen can see it, wonder why they have something that looks made in the eighteenth century. Dad's usually careful with what he puts on display, in case someone barges in unannounced, but he's making an exception now.

There's also a note that's come for him, and he reads it aloud for Stiles. Peter's sent it, announcing he'll come pick them up at eleven if they are still on for today.

Stiles first rips into Cora's package. There's a pair of seeker's gloves inside – what's happened to the omnioculars? Perhaps they were too expensive. It doesn't matter, the gloves are awesome. They’re super thin, so the seeker can feel around for the snitch, but warm enough to keep fingers from freezing up at great heights. The label claims that they're made from vicuna silk. What that means, Stiles has no idea. They’re dark brown and probably the finest piece of clothing Stiles has ever owned.

Cora's note says:

Derek's opened your present in front of everyone – mom snorted juice through her nose! It's open season on him right now, so if he's a little grumpy today, you've no one to blame but yourself.

Love my mug, though.

Stiles is bright red in the face when he finishes reading, he can just feel the heat stretching across his cheeks. It's a scenario he hasn't thought of. It hasn't been his intention to embarrass Derek, not like that. He touches the bite; makes sure it's still there, that it's still itchy.

He opens the package Peter has sent him next. There are three books inside – one of them is a signed copy of Werewolf to The Wise, by – Peter Hale. Which, okay, Stiles can see Peter as a published author. And it's gonna be useful. The second book is Brewing with Muggle Plants – which also sounds dead useful and Stiles has a sneaking suspicion that Ministry can't forbid him to make potions with regular plants. The last books is an in-depth account of the lives of the Four Founders and the description of the process of the founding Hogwarts.

It's a not-so-subtle nudge of Stiles' curiosity, toward the murders of children at the school. He's not sure why Peter wants him to dig into it, but it's not like he hasn't been planing to look for a book just like this one as soon as he got back to Hogwarts. So he's grateful for it, and for the other two books, too.

Cora was completely wrong on Peter's gift-giving. He knows what he's doing.

Derek's package contains two presents. One is a wand holster, with an adjustable strap. You're supposed to attach it to your left forearm, so you can get to the wand just by reaching under the sleeve at the wrist. Like the wands, the holsters seem to come in different sizes, so Derek had to take a good look at Stiles wand to pick the right holster.

Um. Moving on.

The second part of the gift is a book. It's an overview of wandless wards. There's a section on herbology in warding, which Stiles has read a lot about, but there's also a section which explains how you can use various items you can find in nature, such as trees, tree branches and stones, to make wards without the help of the wand. That's also amazingly useful and thoughtful.

There's no note, and Stiles uselessly wishes he's sent anything but that damn book. A damned chocolate frog would have been better.

“So?” Dad asks.

Stiles sums it up, pointing, “Cora sent magically warm gloves, Peter sent these – this one is the book he wrote himself, this one will let me do some magic during summer without anyone butting in and this one is a grown-up version of Hogwarts: A History. And Derek sent a wand holster and a book on wards, on,” how to explain this? “on magical protective barriers I can make if I don't have my wand with me. They're all very useful.”

“And a fairly good prelude into my present,” Dad says, stands up. “Come on.”

Stiles curiously follows him upstairs. Dad takes a key out of his robe pocket and unlocks the main bedroom. They haven't been using this room much since mom died, it was hard for dad to sleep on their huge bed without her, so he took over the tiny guest room and settled there. They don't usually keep it locked, though, this must be so Stiles wouldn't see his present before time.

When they go in now, all the familiar furniture is gone. The room isn't empty, it's – it's a library. A library that still needs to be stacked with books, but the shelves lining the walls are unmistakable.

“Dad...”

“I've been meaning to do it for a while, it can't be healthy to sleep with so many books around your bed,” dad says, looking satisfied and smiling. “But when I got my hands on this beauty, I knew it was time.”

He's pointing at the large desk made of heavy wood. It's old, antique, and well made – just like something you'd find at Hogwarts. There's a row of drawers, it's decorated with beautiful carvings on the sides and the top is well preserved, shiny and smooth, with only a few dents.

“Where did it come from?”

“That old mansion at the bottom of the hill,” dad says. “The owner came back just long enough to organize a sale before putting the house itself on the market. I'm lucky no one else wanted this, so he let me pay it off in installments.”

Stiles cringes. “It was expensive.”

“Well, it's perfect for you. Also, I got all the shelves from the library when they brought in the new, metal ones, for free, so it evens out. They need a fresh splash of paint, but I think I'll leave that to you. A project for the next summer, and you can pick the colors yourself.”

It's amazing. The window in this room is huge, there's a lot of light from this angle even on a winter day like today. It needs an armchair or two, some lamps – hell, bring in a couch and a laptop, and Stiles will never leave it.

He gives his dad a heartfelt hug. They spend the morning exchanging anecdotes over the cheery sounds of the tv in the background. Dad seems a little nervous about the upcoming day – they both are. But at eleven, when Peter comes knocking, they're both in their Sunday best, ready to go.

“We'll take the bus,” Peter says. “If I take along both of you, I'll only be good for a nap for the rest of the day. Also, for future reference, Stiles, it's an efficient way to bypass the anti-muggle charms.”

Stiles has heard of the Knight Bus before, but never used it. Peter holds his wand up in the air – on the path behind the house. The bus comes along almost immediately, somehow fitting into the space between the first trees and their run-down picket fence. Dad takes in this magic the way he does all Stiles' trinkets and moving photos – with calm curiosity.

“Go sit down,” Peter instructs them, then says to the driver, “Knockturn Alley.”

Dad doesn't take notice, watching an older witch trying fruitlessly not to nap under her huge fur hat. She startles when the bus moves suddenly. Dad more elegantly than Stiles slides into one of the front chairs. Peter comes along and takes the seat across from them.

“Knockturn Alley?” Stiles hisses at him, quietly.

“You didn't think a werewolf would be allowed to set up a shop in Diagon Alley, did you?”

Unlike Stiles', his voice is not discreet. It's meant for the other people on the bus, but it grabs dad's attention, too. “Why not?”

Peter half turns to look at him, blankly, “Because we're dangerous.”

Dad looks up through the window like he's expecting to see the full moon there, through the sky is overcast and gray. Then he looks at Stiles, who shrugs, “Don't ask me, I can make people go mad with pain with a flick of my wand. Apparently. And you can make holes in people with a pull of a finger. Anyone can be dangerous, if that's what they want to be.”

Dad makes a face that promises a discussion later, and Stiles is pretty sure it'll be less about the dangers of hanging out with werewolves and more about making people mad with pain.

The bus halts to a stop twice before it's their time to get off. The street it leaves them on is cobbled and narrow, but there are only a few people on it. They're snuggling into their winter clothes, just like people anywhere, hurrying after their own business.

Dad shudders. Peter says, “You can do magic here, Stiles.” Then, with a smirk, “Well, you are not allowed to, but no one can trace a single spell to a minor out here.”

Dad is frowning at Peter for encouraging Stiles to break the law, but he's still shivering in the cold. His best coat, the one he's wearing for the occasion, isn't very warm. And Stiles really wants to show magic to his father, how useful it can be.

So he takes out his wand - tries out his new holster, which works beautifully. He ignores the slight flinch his dad can't stop when Stiles points it at him and casts his best, most balanced charm. It's almost visible, right there on dad's face, as every tense muscle relaxes in relief.

“Well, that's useful,” Dad comments after a few seconds of looking at his fingers, which are rapidly returning to their normal color.

“It'll wear off in a few hours,” Stiles informs him, after casting one on himself. “Tell me when it does, so I can redo it?”

“Everyone is waiting,” Peter says, turns to lead them to the right direction.

“So, this place...” Dad says as they follow Peter, shoulder to shoulder.

“It's got a bad reputation. I haven't been here – I've only been to Diagon Alley, and it's very different there.” They pass a store with the entire window blackened out. There's a sign that says it's closed, but not one to inform potential customers of what they're offering. “Definitely not as grimy.”

Peter opens a door that seems almost at random, not very different from all the other shops. There's a wooden board that reads HaleCakes – which, what?

“Wait a minute, is this a – a bakery?”

It is, it turns out. It's cheerful and cozy inside, and full of color that the Knockturn Alley so desperately needs. The sweets smell like heaven. And it's full of people, most of them familiar.

“What did you think it was?” comes Laura's scorn, but it's not too effective as she seems to be wrestling a toddler. No, two toddlers, two identical toddlers. Nate's kids, right.

“Um,” Stiles says, turns to his father. “So, dad, the Hales – all two hundred of them.”

“Arithmancy too much for you to take on in your third year?” Peter murmurs.

“Please, I rock that class,” Stiles manages before Derek's mom and dad come to meet his dad. Unlike Peter, Stiles trusts them to be kind and helpful, so he leaves them to it.

Well, he tries to leave them to it, but they stop him to give him a hug each. Stiles doesn't mind all the hugging, he takes after his mom in the sheer tactility he needs to function properly. It's confusing with werewolves, though. Do they hug because they like hugging, or because of the scent mixing? He'll have to start on that book as soon as he comes home.

As he goes further into the room, the hugs continue to come. Nate greets him first and introduces him to his wife, Maya – who is very pregnant and very pretty. The Hales don't even marry ugly.

Maya gets to her feet to give him a hug.

“Huh,” Stiles says, startled. “You're human.”

She laughs, “What gave me away?”

It's a joke, he can tell from the few laughs, but he honestly doesn't know. Still, he grins, “You're way too pretty, obviously.”

“Exactly,” Nate says sagely. “That's what I always say.”

“What?” His wife demands. “I don't remember you saying it ever.”

“Stiles,” the woman sitting at the small round table with them says mildly. She's – she's not beautiful. Maybe once upon a time she was, but now she only looks sick. Her hair is colorless, shapeless – eyes sunk. Her smile is kind, though. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

She is trying to lift herself up, but frankly, she looks too tired to pull it off. Stiles bends over to give her a hug, says, “Violetta,” because he's been listening to Cora and so he knows that this can only be Peter's wife.

When he lets go of her, she says, “Malia.” Stiles looks around, but he can't see Peter's daughter anywhere.

“Malia,” Talia Hale says with a quiet kind of authority from the front of the room. The werewolves are looking a little shocked – the girl must have said something Stiles couldn't hear. “Come out of there right now.”

Out of...? Ah. The question answers itself when a small, light-headed girl stands up from under one of the tables in the back. The way she looks at Stiles – he feels lighter for a layer of skin. She's flaying him with the power of her eyes – which are glowing amber, actually.

Sensing this is the one Hale that'll give him no hugs any time soon, Stiles waves, “Hi.”

She snarls. Stiles blinks at her, but that's all he has the time to do before she's gone under the table again.

“Here, try this one,” Laura says, forcing a toddler into his hands before giving him a hug. “It's Caleb, he's been sniffing in your direction – the other one is Collin.” She grins a wicked, wicked grin, winks at him and gives him thumbs up. Stiles thinks it might be about Derek's gift, but she doesn't say a word about it.

The kid – Caleb - easily slips under his arm, then swings over it - uses Stiles' elbow to climb right on his shoulder, where he balances himself with no trouble. “Well, there's always a future for you in the circus,” Stiles mutters, hand wrapped around the tiny leg just in case, looking for Cora and Derek.

Cora is laughing at him openly when she puts his arms around him – and it feels different than the other hugs. Stiles can't remember how long forming a pack bond with someone is supposed to last, whether it's too early for him to feel it, but he does. There's been a sense of emptiness in him, just a tiny – a tiny wrongness. He hasn't even been aware of it until he's felt Cora's solid, warm presence, and the feeling is now gone.

“Missed you,” he says honestly, exactly like he would to Scott.

“You're wearing the gloves,” she murmurs into his shoulder.

“They're brilliant – I don't even feel them on.”

“Which is the point,” Cora tells him smugly.

“Dad says it's okay, if you still want to come over for a few days. We don't have an extra room anymore, though – someone will have to take the couch.” He'll have to take the couch and let Cora use his room, but it'll be worth it.

Talia must have been following his progress through the room more closely than she's given it away so far, but Stiles hears her tell his dad now, “You're sure Cora can come? She can be pushy, I don't want you to feel like you have to invite her over.”

“To tell you the truth, I'm looking forward to some noise around the house,” dad tells her, all relaxed and friendly. God, but this is going well so far.

“I know what you mean. Sometimes, my office is so quiet, I have to come home to be able to get any work done. The silence can be unnerving.”

Stiles isn't sure it's the same thing – she's a pack creature, of course she'll feel better when she's in the middle of her pack.

Then again... humans are pack creatures, too, in their own way.

“I, on the other hand, work much better where there are less willing tasters around,” says Mr. Hale – whose name Stiles will have to learn soon. Everyone laughs.

Stiles tunes them out when Cora takes Caleb off his shoulder – with some struggle, the kid seems to like it there. He looks over her shoulder at where Derek's sitting on one of the tables in the back – in the back, where it's semi-private. He resists wiping his hands off his jeans, makes his way there.

Cora was wrong about Derek being grumpy, though. He's almost smiling, eyes shining, more relaxed than Stiles has ever seen him. Even before this Kate-awful year, he's never been like this. Like – he's at peace. Like he's just so happy.

If he hasn't been too much of a coward to imagine how this'll go, Stiles'd have expected to feel lost and awkward. Especially with Derek just sitting there and waiting for him. But it's easy to walk over there, as close to the edge of the table Derek is sitting on as he can get and put arms around him. It's just like any other hug he's given and received today – it just feels completely different.

Derek spreads his large hands over Stiles' back and waist to draw him in, inhales deeply and makes a humming, content sound in his throat. Stiles is planning on staying right there for as long as he can get away with, just let Derek breathe him in like this. It's – it's really good, and Derek's breath is hair-raisingly hot against his skin.

It's only a few seconds before Derek says, “You're a very helpful gift-giver.”

But he's not letting go, so Stiles lowers his head until his nose is against Derek's shoulder, where the soft fabric of Derek's sweater tickles his nose, and whispers, “It was a tossup between that book and an old shirt.”

“I'd have preferred an old shirt,” Derek says dryly, inhales again. “Especially if you've been wearing it beforehand.”

Just because he feels like he can, Stiles pushes his nose to the side, into Derek's neck. Fingers make a small spasm against his back, but Derek even tilts his head a tiniest bit, giving him permission. Stiles murmurs, “At least tell me there are some useful tips in there.”

Derek snorts, “There better be.”

Stiles drags his nose out. “Come on, let's put my dad out of his misery.”

“Any advice?” Derek asks, with a nervous look across the room.

“Uh, don't look predatory?” Derek raises a sardonic eyebrow at him. “Well, how am I supposed to know? I've never done this before. Smile – but not too much, that just makes people look deranged. Hold my hand, I'm pretty sure he won't try to shoot you if I'm that close.”

Stiles has meant it as a joke, mostly, but Derek easily wraps fingers around his.

Dad's cool, though. He shakes Derek's hand with just a heavily inquiring look – it's good Stiles had the foresight to give Derek all the credit for those blackberries and the saving from the fire.

“We're going to Quality Quidditch Supplies,” Derek announces. Stiles opens his mouth, but Derek rolls his eyes before he can say anything. “And I'll show Stiles where all the bookstores are.

Dad snorts into his mug of whatever the Hales bribed him with to be so mellow. But hey, Stiles is willing to look at quidditch stuff in exchange for Derek's company and bookstore locations. He catches a glimpse of Cora, holding one of the toddlers upside down by the legs and glaring after them.

Out on the street, he asks Derek, “Should we, uh, invite Cora?”

Derek squeezes his fingers, “She'll be spending a good chunk of her break with you, so no.”

Well, that much is true. Stiles has so many plans for Cora and her visit, they'll have so much fun, this is barely even making him feel guilty.

They take a different route from the one Stiles has come by. There's a lot of stairs, some going up, some down, some end with nothing on the other side, just a stone wall. Warding of some sort, perhaps. The buildings are tall and looming, they hide most of the dull sunlight. There are windows, sparse and closed, looking at the alleys, but no balconies. No Christmas decorations, no laundry spread to dry. It's all very – somber and gloomy.

But this backside is hiding a lovely little bakery back there, so Stiles is pretty sure that it's only on the outside that way. On the inside, there must be plenty of cheer.

They come across a window that actually has a display. “Is this an apothecary?"

Derek sniffs the air, like he needs to check with his nose. Actually, that just might be exactly what he's doing, the window could be some sort of decoy. “Yeah.”

“So this is where you buy illegal potion ingredients?”

“No, you don't buy illegal potion ingredients anywhere, because they're illegal and dangerous.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, “Right, but theoretically. If I needed a – a – I don't know. Something illegal and dangerous. This is where I'd come?”

“No, you'd go to Peter. No one will sell you anything illegal just because you asked for it.”

“From what I've heard of this place, there should be peddlers offering to sell me human bones wherever I turn,” Stiles complains, looking at grimy bottles and jars in the window with a resentment. “Hey, would they sell it to you?”

Derek frowns at him like he doesn't understand the question. “To me?”

“Yeah. Like, if you went inside and asked for something – something bad – show them a bit of teeth, claw at their front desk with a glint in your eye? Would they sell it?”

“For someone so determined to buy illegal potion ingredients, you're finding it unusually hard to provide an example,” Derek says, starts to drag him away from the window. “Yeah, I suppose I could convince them. Don't put us in that situation, though. My mom would kill me if she found out.”

“I would never,” Stiles promises, looking back at the window, trying to determine if that’s a root of some sort or a tentacle in that jar before Derek drags him around the corner.

“Uh-huh,” Derek says, stops so Stiles has to look at him in the face. “But when you do, make sure you do come to me and not to Cora. Okay?”

“Er, or I'll just go to Peter?”

“Even better,” Derek says. “Come on, this leads right into the Diagon Alley.”

Stiles remembers well enough his short experience of buying his wand, though Prof. Sinistra didn't let him linger too much. It wasn't anything like this. They come out into the busiest street he's ever seen in his life. There are people everywhere – and window by window full of lights and merchandise. It's like an explosion of colors and noise, and Stiles finds himself laughing aloud.

Derek waits for him to adjust, then gets a better hold of his hand, entangles their fingers. “Hold on,” he says, “I'll never track you down in this crowd.”

“I'm not five, Derek.”

“Just don't wanna lose you,” Derek tells him with a grin, tugs him into the street. “And here, we'll go into a bookstore first.”

They walk past a few windows – there's a pet shop unlike anything Stiles has ever seen in his life. It's like a mini zoo, but so underfunded it has to cram together even the most exotic of the animals. Cages with all kinds of owls are lined up on crates and boxes. Stiles stops to take a close look. There are a few snakes in one of the boxes, in colors bright and clear like crayon sticks. There are spiders and scorpions, lizards and so many different types of rats and mice, there's no way to see them all, crawling over one another. In a different cage, there are two, well, two dogs. Or something.

Stiles reaches through the bars to pet them. The smaller one leans right into his touch, endearing and soft. The other one, the one that looks almost like a small ferret, opens its mouth and what comes out is, “Ass!”

Stiles barks a laugh, even as Derek takes a hold of his elbow to drag him back, “You don't really want those two.”

“Ass! Ass!”

“Is it really swearing at me?”

“Yeah, and it's still a kit. It only gets worse.”

They start walking again, at the very edge of the crowd. Derek doesn't take his hand again, but he's walking very close. “The other one is cute, though. The puppy?”

“The crup would try to eat your dad for not having magic, Stiles.”

“What? Why?”

“Because that's what they're bred for. Come on, in here.”

The sign above the door says Obscurus Books, which Stiles has actually heard of. They've printed a lot of his textbooks, and some other books he's read.

The inside is – God, these bookshelves go on forever. In height. There are ladders to help you reach the top rows and Stiles feels dizzy just looking at people climbing them.

“Anything in particular you're interested in?” Derek asks.

Stiles narrows eyes at him over his shoulder. “Just to be clear, I haven't said anything about wanting to go to a bookstore. That's all your personal prejudice against my house.”

Derek says, very dryly, “Right, my bad. But?”

“Buut, while we're here, I'd like to look at their selection on first aid?” At Derek's blank look, he amends, “Healing. Basic healing.”

Derek shakes his head, but he's smiling a little. “Is there anything out there you don't find fascinating?”

“Your sense of humor,” Stiles informs him seriously. “I don't find that fascinating at all.”

Derek laughs, because he can literally sense that fat lie for what it is, and pushes him further inside and out of the way of people trying to get in. “Come on, there's a hint of that terrible hospital stench coming from over there.”

The section on healing is, predictably, huge. It's hard to find a book like the one he's imagined. They are either too advanced, or too wand based. Most focus on one area of healing, like poisons, or curing hexes. Some are so terribly expensive he almost drops them at the sight of the handwritten price.

Stiles hands Derek those that are acceptable, and by the time he's done with the rows low enough to reach on foot – because let's face it, he is not climbing those wonky ladders – Derek's hands are full. Like, Stiles can barely see his face full.

“Oh my God, I'm sorry – you could have put them on the top of the shelf.”

“It's okay,” Derek says, but he doesn't protest when Stiles takes half of the books to put aside. “Are you going to buy all of these?”

The money situation is always sensitive, but Stiles has to admit, “I can barely afford one. That's why it has to be perfect, you know?”

Derek nods and opens one of the books left in his hands, as if to help Stiles look for just the right one. Their criteria aren't likely to match. It's sweet of Derek to try, though.

“Uh, thanks for being patient about this,” Stiles says after ten minutes of flipping through the books. He's narrowed it down to top three, at least, but it's taken forever.

“I have to earn some credit before we walk into the Quality Quidditch Supplies,” Derek says with a smug smile. Stiles cringes a little. That's gonna be a trial. And now he won't even have the heart to try and demand they finish early. He's been manipulated into spending a few hours in a quidditch shop. By a Gryffindor.

“Stilinski!”

Stiles startles, looks at the figure approaching from behind Derek. He can't help the slow burn of dread, even though this particular Ravenclaw has never been antagonistic toward him.

“Talbot,” he greets back evenly.

“Hale,” Brett says with surprise when Derek turns a little to look at him. From the way Derek frowns, just a bit, and sniffs the air with all the subtlety of a curious puppy, Stiles is sure he has no idea who Brett is. He's seen that expression before on Derek's face, when it was aimed at him.

“Ravenclaw quidditch Captain,” Stiles mutters under his breath, leaning over to put one of the books back in its place.

Derek's frown turns to a huge smile so fast, Brett looks dizzy. Like, I'm gonna swoon now dizzy.

“You wanted something, Talbot?”

Brett blinks in the face of Derek's smiling face a few times before he manages to turn away and answer Stiles' question. “Ah, actually, it's lucky Hale is here, too. I wanted to ask you if you've heard anything about him playing quidditch again, now that...”

Brett cuts off that sentence with a grimace, but Derek picks up easily. “Prof. Sinistra says I can.”

“Oh, good,” Brett says. “That kid replacing you isn't too bad, but we want to beat you this year at your best.”

“Fat chance,” Derek snorts with a smile so big, it shows his blunt human teeth. They're, um, very white and adorable. If only the smile isn't so completely over the top.

“We'll see about that,” Brett smiles back, like answering an invitation.

Stiles sighs, “Anything else, Talbot?”

It's come out more annoyed than he's meant it. Brett doesn't drop that smile completely before he looks between Derek and Stiles. “Right,” he says. “No, not really. See you at school, guys.”

When he leaves, Derek's teeth are behind his very tightly pressed lips. Stiles demands, “What the hell was that?”

“What?”

“The, God, the – creepy-ass charm, turned up to twelve?” Derek shakes his head. “The fake smiling, Derek, what was that for?”

“It wasn't fake,” Derek says, offended. Stiles raises his eyebrow as far up as they'll go, and he huffs. “Well, he couldn't tell it was fake. Could he?”

“No, he was too busy swooning over you,” Stiles snaps, which causes Derek to make the funniest face – somehow he's insulted, flattered and amused at the same time. Stiles rolls his eyes, “No, I'm not jealous,” and adds, before Derek can comment on how that statement reflected on his heartbeat, “You're not gonna tell me?”

Derek shrugs, “You can't keep sleeping in that hallway when we go back to Hogwarts, Stiles.”

“So, what, you're gonna charm my way back up to the Ravenclaw tower?”

“If I have to.”

“That's – disturbing.” Yet oddly sweet. “And if it doesn't work?”

Derek's slow smile showcases every last bit of his lupine nature. “I'll change tactics.”

Stiles doesn't know about Brett Talbot, but he personally finds this Derek – this kind, protective creature all edged up by his predatory instincts – much more attractive than that cheery, friendly guy from earlier. Stiles hides his face in the bookshelf, which must be splotched red with the train of thought he's following right now, before he clears his throat and says, “There's an easier way to accomplish that, anyway.”

“Enlighten me,” Derek urges dryly.

“You could always just, uh, come up to my dorm and stay with me.”

When there's no answer for several long seconds, Stiles dares to glance sideways. Derek looks – well, it seems like he's somehow managed to floor Derek. His mouth is hanging open and everything.

Stiles quickly turns back to blindly go over the book spines with his finger, scoffs, “Come on, don't look at me like I'm the first person to ever invite you into their bed.”

Because he's not. And everyone knows it. Like, it's actually been in the papers. Also, he's pretty sure they talked about sharing a bed before, up in that little room Stiles has been using before.

Derek moves closer, so close Stiles doesn't have any room left to wiggle out. He says, quietly, with chin lightly pressed against Stiles' shoulder, “Not in the middle of the Diagon Alley. Not when anyone can hear it.”

Which, heh. It's not just about who's had sex and who hasn't. Why and where and how counts for something, too. If Kate's stupid games and plots broke Derek somehow, Stiles is gonna... dislike her even more. Like, he's gonna dislike her violently.

He admits, “I kind of forgot where we are.”

Derek's hands come to rest on his hips like large patches of heat. “We're in the middle of a bookstore, where at least three other patrons are listening to every word we say.”

“Oh. I'd, I'd demand we give them a bit of a show right now, but,” Just like with the money issue, Stiles doesn't want to say this, but Derek pretty much needs to know. “I'd prefer my first kiss happens somewhere a little more private.”

If that's any sort of turn off, Derek doesn't show it. He moves the tall collar of Stiles jacket out of the way, exposes the neck there just enough so he could bend over and nose at the bite mark. Every thought of audience leaves Stiles' head immediately, and when Derek finally opens his mouth and swipes his tongue over the itching cut, he doesn't even try to stop the noise that bubbles up.

“Shh,” Derek whispers, the ass, before doing it again. His hand is steadying on Stiles' hip, so at least he doesn't end up trying to hump the bookshelf. Or trying to press back against Derek – though, God, that does sound very satisfying.

Derek puts his collar the way it was, steps away. “Come on, find your book. I want to look at quidditch equipment for a while. It's Christmas for me, too, you know.”

Stiles randomly picks one of the books from the two that are left, tries to will away the blush and the insistent, embarrassing arousal that's causing it. “Please, like I don't know you're – that you were in consideration for the Head Boy next year.”

Derek's grades aren't the best in his year, but it takes more than that to be chosen. He's well-liked, people listen to him. He'd have been good at it.

They make their way toward the register. “I wasn't,” Derek tells him. “I never was. Laura was the Head Girl last year, and Prof. Sinistra can't make it look like she's favoring werewolves.”

“That sucks.”

“Not really,” Derek says with a shrug, points at the book in Stiles' hands. “Let me see that.”

There's a line, but it's going quickly, the clerk is efficient. Stiles gets sidetracked by some books from the last minute change of mind pile on the side of the register and when he lifts his head, the clerk is processing his purchase and Derek is digging out his wallet.

“Oh, hey, you don't have to do that – don't do that!” The last thing he wants is charity.

Derek wipes out a small hand-made card, waves it for just a second in front of Stiles' face. “I've got twenty percent discount here.”

Stiles opens his mouth to argue, but then what he's seen on the card reaches his brain and he throws both hands in the air and leaves the store.

He's the hugest asshole in the world. Derek's discount card doesn't have a picture to distract people, so what catches the eye just after the listed name is the date of birth. And it says 25th of December.

It's Derek's birthday, today, and Stiles has sent him the worst, most thoughtless, rudest present in history.

He needs to fix this.

Derek comes out of the store in a hurry. He relaxes when he sees Stiles hasn't gone far, hands him a lovely silvery shopping bag with animated falling snowflakes.

“Thank you,” Stiles says, aiming for gracious and coming out frustrated.

“I'm sorry.”

“No, it's my fault.” Derek doesn't believe him, clearly, so Stiles pushes, both with words and his body language, coming to stand really close. He's great friends with Scott, surely he can pull off earnest.“I fucked up, but I'll make it up to you. Okay? And thanks for the book. Really.”

Derek is still unsure, but he quirks a smile, “You having this book, it's more a present for me, anyway.” He shakes his head, widens his smile. “I keep thinking you'll get distracted by something shiny and walk straight off a balcony.”

“I'm not – I pay more attention than that!”

“It's endearing,” Derek says, though he obviously means embarrassing.

Stiles huffs, and considers it Derek's first gift when he drops the subject. “Come on, let's go look at quidditch stuff.”

The quidditch shop is crowded and terribly expensive. And boring. All the gloves, all the cleaning kits, all the balls, all the brooms – they’re all the same to him. But they keep Derek entertained, so Stiles has the time to think, even as he follows closely through the aisles. He needs money, that's what he needs. If dad had any extra, he'd offer it on his own, so what Stiles needs is to find a way to make money. But yeah, the only way that'll happen is if he sells one of his kidneys. That's all he's got that's worth anything.

No, wait, that's not true. Only this morning he's re-shelved Hermione Granger's schoolbooks into his new library. Peter implied they're worth something. Maybe he knows someone who'd buy them.

Stiles has been valiantly ignoring his hunger until his stomach started growling loudly. He'd ignore it some more – he can make it for at least a half an hour longer – but Derek hears it. He doesn't say anything about it, just wraps up quickly, pays for his junk – a water bottle with a strap for the thigh and new rain-resistant goggles – and leads them out of there.

Stiles exaggeratedly inhales the leather-free air of the outside, and Derek shakes his head, “You really don't like quidditch, do you.”

“Not really, though I guess I'd like it just fine if I could play it. I'm not actually that bad at sports.”

“You can't fly?”

“I can, just... You know, you say you're scared I'll walk off a balcony. What do you think a shot focus does to flying?”

Derek hisses with a flinch. “Okay, I get it.”

They turn into one of the alleys that lead into the Knockturn Alley. The atmosphere immediately changes, like there's a ward that prevents the cheer and noise to spill from the Diagon Alley. There's no crowd to get lost in, but Derek is still firmly holding his hand as they walk down a set of stairs that cut into a side of a building. It feels more personal, more intimate than before.

Stiles wants to cut Derek some slack, for the day at least, but they're about to return to the bakery full of the Hales and Stiles' father, and Stiles isn't sure when he'll get to see Derek again, so he stops walking just before they reach the bottom. Derek turns to frown at him, vaguely worried. Stiles isn't sure how to ask for this, how to put it into words. He steps away from Derek, just for a moment, hoping it'll come to him easier if he doesn't have to look at him.

“This, okay,” his voice is hoarse from sheer anxiety. “All the sniffing and the biting - the werewolf stuff, you know – it's fine, it's,” More than fine, really, it's exciting and hot and oddly fitting, but Stiles can't say that last part, not yet, “but I'm human, Derek, and I think – I need...”

Derek doesn't wait for him to finish. He steps closer and crowds him back, back into the stone banister, hands on Stiles' hips. He whispers, “I'm at least half human myself.”

Stiles opens his mouth – to talk, to ask again – but he gives up on it when he feels their noses bump together, they're so close now. Derek's breath is sizzling hot, hitting his face like that - so hot that Stiles, for a whole second, doesn't even notice Derek's lips when they press in the wake of it against Stiles' mouth.

It's a terrible start, Stiles dreads, closing his eyes, but Derek distracts him from the awful train of thought. His lips are a sliding pressure of warm wetness, so soft. Stiles isn't sure what he should do, so he does what seems like it'd be pleasant – he opens his mouth and bites into that softness, not very gently.

Derek growls. It's loud enough to make Stiles let go and flinch back a little – he's feeling weightless, suspended in air – but that lasts only a moment, before his ass lands on the banister. Derek's picked him up and perched him there, and Stiles is opening his legs to let him close, let him in, like he's done it a hundred times before.

When Derek puts his mouth back against his, there's no caution, no delicacy – it's wet and good and deep. Stiles does the best he can to keep track of what they're doing, for future reference, but it's so hard to focus under the surge of Derek against him. His large hands hold Stiles in place firmly, fingers dig in, like he's scared Stiles will slip away. It's maybe even necessary, though the only way Stiles is going is down, weighted by a mass of heat that's dropping ever lower in his gut.

He's getting noisy, right there in the middle of the street, and he wants Derek to be noisy with him, so Stiles gets his hands on Derek, finally, wraps one around the back of Derek's neck and tangles the other one in Derek's hair. The sheer intensity and solidness of Derek at the moment is like a permission not to be gentle, so Stiles channels some of the tension that's coiling between them through his fingers, presses, twists. He's yanking Derek's hair, basically, this time barely even registering the growling that he's causing.

Then Derek's suddenly off him. He hasn't moved far, hands still around Stiles, on the banister, but there's no contact between their bodies. Derek is breathing harshly, head bent a little, all tense like he's just barely stopping himself from jumping.

Which is nonsense, so Stiles leans in to grab his sweater to pull him in again, murmuring, “Sorry, sorry, okay? I won't pull, just...”

Derek comes easily, kisses him again, shortly and softly this time, hands wrapping around him. “It's okay, just, it makes me think you wouldn't mind if I shifted and that – it's tempting. Hard to fight off.”

“Why would I mind?” Derek looks at him like he's insane. “Okay, the teeth, I get it – but you'd be careful? Right?”

Derek is shaking his head, but it's not denial. “I'd never... It's not like that, I wouldn't... It just, it's not...”

“Pretty?” Stiles attempts to help him find words, because it's getting painful. “I hate to break it to you, buddy, but you're not that pretty even without your werewolf on.”

Derek snorts, “Shut up, let me think a moment.” Stiles pointedly gets his mouth busy exploring Derek's jaw and neck. Derek lets him, even moves his head to the side to give him a better access. He says after a few minutes of occasional gasps and sighs, “It takes a lot of trust.”

Stiles scoffs against the warm, delicious skin. “So you don't trust me enough.”

“Don't be stupid, Stiles, trust on your side. If I scare you – we may never be able to fix it.”

Stiles removes his mouth from Derek's neck to look at him in the eye. “Your sister actually tried to kill me. Teeth, claws, the extra hair, glowing eyes, charging at me and my best friend with the intention to tear us apart. And I'm inviting her into my house, not even two weeks after the fact. So when I tell you it's okay to shift if you want to, then I mean it. And I'm telling you... it's okay.”

Derek licks his lips, unconvinced. Okay.

“Now, I'm not gonna lie and tell you that if I suddenly feel huge, sharp teeth against my neck, my heart won't go into overdrive. But only, like, fifty percent of it it's gonna be fear. At least forty will be just good old lust - because let's face it, I'll never be not turned on with you so close, no matter what you look like.”

It seems like he's getting through, Derek lets his mouth upturn on one side, “And the remaining ten percent?”

“Oh, that,” Stiles coughs, a bit wary of saying the next part aloud. “That part will be sitting there, wondering how it would have felt like if you actually gave me that claiming bite. Teeth in deep, blood.” He swallows under the intensity of Derek's stare now, licks his lips which feel bruised. “The works.”

Derek carefully moves away, face blank, completely out of reach. “We need to go before you drive me completely insane.”

Stiles gets off the banister, winks, “Hey, we're only just starting here, okay? Just imagine how insane I'll drive you in two months.”

Derek snorts, “Or in two years.”

And because why not, Stiles says, “Or two decades.”

But Derek just takes his hand, pulls him along. “Surely I'll get used to it by then?”

“Yeah, you might need to talk to my dad about that. I don't think it's going too well for him, but who knows...”

Laura is waiting for them at the door of the bakery, a twin in each arm. Derek explains she got saddled with them for the day and therefore couldn't go spend time with friends, as she originally planned. He's laughing openly at her, but takes one of the kids off her hands – Stiles has no idea which one.

Inside, there's no question, the adults are a little drunk. Dad as much as Talia and her husband and Peter and Nate. How does alcohol get processed by a werewolf, anyway?

More importantly, there's food. They pull together several tables in the middle of the room, spread the obviously home-cooked meat in the middle of it, salads, potatoes, pies and drinks around it. It's chaotic and both Stiles and his dad quickly learn that if they want to eat something, they have to take it without hesitation. There's plenty of food anyway, and Mr. Hale's pies and cakes are amazing.

No one comments on any sort of smells coming off Derek and Stiles. Whether it's because there are too many people in close quarters or because they haven't been expecting anything else from them in the first place... well, it's something Stiles will try and figure out, for future reference.

Malia throws food at his head. Which wouldn't be so bad if she wasn't so strong that even potato puree kinda hurts when it hits his cheek. Peter sends the girl to sit by herself on a table in the corner as soon as it becomes clear she won't listen to their instructions to stop.

Before Stiles takes dad to the bus station in Diagon Alley – with the intention to show him some of that amazing chaos over there, he pulls Peter a little bit to the side and asks him about the Hermione Granger books. Peter tells him he'll drop by the next day to check them out – he can't make an evaluation without taking a good look at their condition.

“It's a little red sign, right next to the ice-cream parlor,” Derek tells him again as dad buttons up.

“And if you get lost, you can just stop anyone and ask,” Cora adds.

It's like they think he's not capable of finding his way home. Stiles has had to refuse a chaperon no less than five times.

“Want me to leave you a sock so you can track me down? Just in case?” He's sarcastic, complete with an eye roll, but they both look tempted. Like they would even need a personal item for a spell with their noses. “Look, guys, no one's gonna steal me, ok? See you in a few days, Cora?”

And so the circle of hugging begins again. It ends with Derek, of course, and Stiles might be holding on just a little tighter, but then he has to go. It's getting dark already.

The crowd in Diagon Alley is not quite as thick as it was when he was there with Derek. The windows are illuminated in the dusk, hovering candles and lanterns like overgrown fireflies above their heads. Dad is trying to look in three directions at once, all the movement and color attracting his attention. He scratches his head at the sight of the bank, frowns deeply as they walk by the menagerie – Derek was right and that small pup almost bites right through the bars in the attempt to eat him alive. For the first time that day, dad looks a little overwhelmed.

They find the ice cream parlor and the bus stop easily enough and even though the ride is super short, by the time they arrive home it's completely dark outside.

“So,” Stiles asks dad after they take off their winter gear. “What do you think?”

“About magic or about Derek?”

“Um, both?”

“Magic is warm, shiny and tastes very good,” dad says after a few seconds of thinking it over. “And you forgot to tell me that Derek was seeing a teacher until recently.”

“Ah. But that's ancient history. Should I make some coffee?”

Dad nods, follows him into the kitchen. “Still. Stiles. You have to take it seriously. It's not a small thing. It's been going on for a while – Talia and Ethan are very worried about how hard he was trying to protect this woman.”

“So he's loyal.”

“To the woman who apparently poisoned four children and killed other four?” Stiles shrugs helplessly – it's not like Derek knew what she'd do. “Where the two of you involved while he was still seeing her?”

“Uh, just a tiny – very very tiny bit? And he stopped seeing her right after that, so...” Stiles serves the coffee, his mug barely one-third full. “I'm curious, though, have the Hales told you that Kate's – that's her name, Kate Argent – her father went to prison for something werewolf related?”

So it's not just him that finds that completely suspicious right off the bat. Dad raises his eyebrows. “Did Derek know that?”

“Yeah, some. He didn't know the whole story. Peter told us.”

Stiles repeats the story about werewolves in the war, the Feral children and Gerard's fall from grace. Then he adds the part about finding out about Kate (without the wall slamming, because he doesn't want dad to hate Derek), following her to Hog's Head and telling Derek what he found there. And the bite bit, because if all the Hales are taking it seriously, his dad should know.

Dad finishes his coffee. “It doesn't add up.”

“Right? The distraction is too obvious. Most people know about her father and of course everyone would look at her first for any harm that happens to them.”

“I'm also worried about her apparent non-reaction to Derek breaking things off with her. If it was part of an elaborate plan to get back at Talia, she invested a lot of time and effort. Just letting him go like that, without a fight – it doesn't ring right.”

Stiles hasn't thought of it being suspicious, just unnerving. “Do you – I don't think Derek told her anything about me, but do you think she might suspect I've been snooping?”

“I don't know, Stiles, I don't know what kind of tools that woman has at her disposal. On one hand, I'm not even sure she's done anything more serious than sleeping with a student – Derek is sixteen, so it's not even statutory rape by our laws. On the other hand, you're my only kid, so I'll occasionally send some colleagues to keep an eye on you while I'm working. Cooperate, you hear?”

Spooked a little, Stiles hasn't even thought not to. “And I'll start working on the wards first thing. Now, though... Uh, Derek is not sixteen any longer. It's his birthday today, which I had no idea about.”

Dad shakes his head. “Well, I'm gonna watch some television now, take a nap maybe.”

Arlene is up in Stiles' room when he goes there, like she could sense he needed her. He uses some leftover paper from dad's last birthday. It's appropriate – if not new – with tiny cakes and balloons. Stiles wraps a shirt and a book. The shirt is an old orange one that says don't text and drive, which will mean next to nothing to Derek. But it's the shirt Stiles has been sleeping in for the last three nights, so it should smell a lot like him. Scent sharing and all. Derek's gonna appreciate it.

The book is a high school coming of age drama. It's not Stiles' most favorite because it's a little too angsty, but it's amazing anyway and should give Derek some insight into how muggle teenagers live on the other side. If Derek likes it, Stiles will buy a more cheerful book later on, maybe. This is all that he has that's not dystopian or full of someone's dreamed-up magic.

The note is simple. Happy Birthday! it says and, Don't forget to tell me if you liked the book!

There'll be time for letters and notes later on. This is only a beginning.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Books once owned by Hermione Granger are today worth much more than Stiles thought they would be. He ends up selling only two to Peter – who gives him an even 500 galleons for them.

“You're sure you can sell them for that money?” Stiles asks him suspiciously. They're up in Stiles' library – and doesn't that thought just give him a thrill.

“I'm not going to sell them. I will put them in stasis and leave them in the family vault. In a few generations, they'll be worth a fortune.” Ha. Peter and Stiles have very different opinions on what constitutes a fortune. “If you decide to sell the rest, call me first. If not, learn how to protect them. That copy of Hogwarts: A History is full of her personal notes, so make sure you don't damage it. Even at the moment, it's probably the most expensive item you have in your house.”

The book Peter is talking about is old and damaged – well loved, though. Stiles says, “Thanks for coming. I, uh, I needed the money.”

“Really?” Peter says. “What for?”

Stiles grins at him. “You'll see. But this is more than I expected, so I'll probably fill these shelves up a little, too.”

Peter looks around. “It is a little sparse, even for a personal library.”

“Hey, this is my Christmas present, I've only had it for a day. Don't judge.”

Peter's library, he imagines, is amazing. Probably huge, yet too small to contain all the books Peter has. Stiles is aiming for this room to be like that, one day. For now, he only has enough to fill maybe one of the shelves, and most of the books he owns are still in his room.

Peter doesn't look judgy, just entertained. “And the desk? Has it been in your family long?”

“Uh, not at all. Dad bought it at a yard sale a few months ago, for me. Why?”

“It figures, I guess. Those are runes on the sides, do you see them? This desk belonged to another wizard, or a witch, before you.”

“That's weird.” He'll have to ask dad for the name of the owner of that mansion. You never know, maybe he'll recognize it.

Dad isn't home, he had to go back to work. Peter walks around the house curiously, sniffing discreetly and touching random things. Stiles goes to the kitchen to make some tea and see if there's something for a snack, figuring that if Peter decides to steal something, he won't be able to stop him. Peter comes in a little later, lured in by the smell of fresh tea, and treats the kitchen with the scenting as well.

“Really,” Stiles says. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”

Peter nods. “I had an ulterior motive, I admit. Cora is packing to come here, to this house, and stay for a while. I was wondering if you'd let me set some wards before that?”

It sounds like a question, but Stiles is pretty sure it's not. “Will they last just as long as she's here, or...?”

Peter smiles. “Worried about your father?”

“Always.”

“Then we'll make them last. Take your wand out, we have a lot of work to do.”

Peter first writes a note to send to the appropriate department to the ministry. Putting wards on a house is not forbidden in any way, so the letter is just to let them know it's Peter who's casting at Stiles' house. They don't wait for the response to start on them.

Forget Kate. Her little wards are child's play in comparison to what Peter teaches Stiles that day. He's a better teacher, too. He makes Stiles do his research, goes with him through the theory behind the wards until there's no way he doesn't understand what's going on. After that the wand movements actually makes sense. Stiles feels like he's learned more from Peter in a few hours than he learns at Hogwarts in months.

One of the wards they put up masks traces of magic. Peter tells him it's so he doesn't get in trouble if there's an emergency, but he's totally smirking as he makes sure Stiles knows to cast this ward as easily as he can breathe. Peter is giving him a way to do magic in his own house, way before he turns seventeen.

All the other wards are defensive, at least one of them is to let Peter know if something goes wrong and one is supposed to make Stiles' ears ring if someone breaks into the house.

*

Arlene finally comes back that afternoon, after Peter has left. The note she's brought isn't from Derek, though. It's from Cora.

_You have to tell everyone that I get to read the book next, as soon as Derek finishes, okay? Laura swears she smelled tears on him and I have to read this!_

_Also, Derek came down this morning all happy and reeking of you, so whatever you're doing, it's going great._

Being friends with your boyfriend's sister has all sorts of advantages. Stiles writes her back right away, tells her that the book is Derek's to do with what he will and then proceeds to ask all the questions he's got about Derek, from favorite food and color to happy childhood memories she feels comfortable sharing. They take up most of the page, so Stiles explains what he's planning and why and begs her to help him out.

He sends the letter with Arlene and gets ready. He needs to exchange some of the money Peter gave him, so he needs to go to Gringotts. And to that Quidditch store.

*

The first present is easy, because he watched Derek try to decide between the rain-resistant goggles and high-friction replacement handle grips for a beater's bat. Derek bought the goggles himself, so Stiles sends him the handles. Cora's whole letter this time consists of _‘Nice!"_ Derek politely said _"You shouldn't have and thank you’_ and _‘Wow, you were paying attention.’_

Stiles also picked up a few things for himself on that trip – a Quidditch extra-loud, extra-piercing whistle, _‘granted to get everybody's attention!’_ , because maybe he's looking forward to having Cora over, but he's not exactly stupid – and he hasn't forgotten how terribly scary she can be. He got a few books, two more on healing, one on warding and one called _For Ancestors and God; an encyclopedia of the practices of the ritual sacrifice magic_ (the clerk didn't even look up at him processing it; the wizarding world needs a better system for tracking potential evil overlords). Stiles got some potions equipment too for when he gets around to try out recipes from Peter's book on potions with muggle herbs and a winter set made of a hat, a scarf and a pair of gloves, charmed to remain warm for the entire season, for dad.

Dad tries it on that very night on the extra shift he picked up to quell the guilt over taking the Christmas day off when some colleagues had to work. The enthusiasm he shows the next morning almost rivals the one of opening that bottle of mead. It's been a very cold night.

Later in the morning, when dad's gone to sleep, Stiles sends three small presents to Derek – a cute little cup with a cookie pocket, a book titled _Pride Mates_ (which he hasn't read, but the blurb sounds fascinating) and an olive henley shirt because, let's face it, Derek's gonna rock it.

This time, Derek's letter is longer.

_When I finally told mom about Kate, she wasn't very happy at all. I think she felt guilty for hiding the whole truth about Gerard Argent from us, because surely I would have been more careful otherwise. I'm not sure that's true, but either way. Things were tense in the house. Mom was unhappy, so everyone kinda tiptoed around her, and around me. It got even worse when we found out that Kate was missing, which I guess is a proof she's really the one who killed those children and poisoned Cora._

_On Christmas morning, when mom caught the glimpse of the book you sent and laughed, things changed. She laughed, and everyone figured that if you get to tease me about it, they get to do it, too. It's beyond annoying – but that's how a family is supposed to be. It feels right._

_So I'm not mad at you, or whatever you got into your head to get you to send all these things, okay? I wouldn't be anyway, because it is kinda funny and definitely useful._

Stiles snorts at this lame attempt to stop him from sending presents and puts the letter into the first drawer of his desk, figuring out the next one. He keeps Arlene with him for the moment.

A few hours later, an unfamiliar owl comes with another note from Derek. It says,

_What the hell is this book? It's not accurate at all!_

Stiles rolls his eyes, scribbles,

_It's fiction, Derek, it's one of the many ways muggles imagine werewolves; since they don't know it's real, they don't feel bad about making things up. It's not propaganda, it's just a story – roll with it,_

and sends the next gift. This one is a little expensive, and Stiles has had to double check with Cora about werewolves and silver before ordering it. It's a silver chain with a moon cycle pendant. The full moon in the middle of a waxing and waning crescents is not just a shape, it's made to look like the actual surface of the moon. It's smallish and discreet, yet really nice, but what made up Stiles mind about buying it for Derek is that both crescent little shapes have tiny narcissus flowers engraved in them – and that's Derek's birth month flower. It's just felt fitting.

The last gift Stiles sends before Cora's visit is a small one – an eagle plush toy. To represent Stiles and his Revenclawness. He doesn't get any response to that. Which bothers Stiles a little – he's afraid he's managed to do something insulting again.

Cora shows up next morning on schedule – accompanied by Peter and Talia. Dad, who's got the morning off so he could rest for his second and third shift later, opens the door for them.

“Never a dull moment with you, eh?” Cora says brightly. “Where can I put my stuff?”

Confused, Stiles says, “Uh, my room – I'll help you...”

“No, nope. I can find it. You stay here, mom wants to talk to you.”

A second, more careful look reveals that both Peter and Talia are wearing what can only be ceremonial robes. They look expensive and regal, though the vibrant colors of Peter's clothes look a little weird on him.

Dad seems to be sensing something is going on, his back is straight and face serious as he looks at the werewolves on their doorstep.

“We'd like to negotiate the terms of the courtship between our children, John. May we come in?” Talia says.

Dad glances back at Stiles, who nods. “Of course. The living room is this way.”

Talia walks in first, Peter nods with a smirk as he passes by. Dad whispers, “This is about that biting thing, isn't it?”

“I think so,” Stiles whispers back, aware that probably even Cora upstairs can hear them. When dad sits down on the edge of the sofa, opposite from Peter and Talia, he offers nervously, “Should I bring something to drink?”

Talia opens her mouth, but dad says first, “No. These kinds of negotiations always run smoother on an empty stomach and a dry throat. Sit down, Stiles.”

Peter and Talia both nod their agreement, or acceptance. Talia clears her throat, addresses dad, “As you know, your son is currently wearing a claiming bite, which is the first – and in this case, a very successful – step in a courtship.”

“I am aware of that, yes,” Dad says carefully. “But before we go any further, I have to ask – don't you think they are a little young for such a serious commitment?”

“Yes, of course,” Talia points at the robes she's wearing. “And that reflects in what I'm wearing today – the ceremonial clothes displays in color our expectations for the process. I'm wearing brown to express the wish for everything to go in their natural order, without speeding it up. The light green is to keep in mind their youth.”

“Orange for optimism and red for power,” Peter says in explanation of his own robes. “Because I believe that addition of your son to our pack can only benefit us. In as long as there is a mutual desire to proceed with it, I am willing to support this courtship in any way possible.”

“The reason I'm not protesting this is because a courtship can – and in this case probably will – last a long time,” Talia continues her explanation.

Peter adds, “Traditionally, it's one, three or seven years.”

“Alright,” Dad says. “What makes you think this one will last long?”

Talia frowns, like she thinks that the question is weird. “Well, all my children are academically gifted, and from what I've heard and seen from Stiles, he is nothing less than very talented. I expect that both Derek and Stiles will want to continue their education after Hogwarts.”

Dad visibly deflects at that. Peter picks up on it, leaned forward in his seat, “John, we're not here to push Stiles into doing anything he's not comfortable with. The courtship ritual was put together to make sure that two people engaging in it get to know each other better, to give them the time and opportunity to be absolutely sure they want to go through to the mating. Derek and Stiles come from very different backgrounds – this is to create a somewhat controlled environment to bridge those gaps in cultures over. Their instincts are different, and not everyone can make it work. We're here to set down some ground rules and allow them the opportunity to learn how to do that.”

Peter is a smooth talker, alright. Dad sits back more comfortably. “What can we do?”

“Wait,” Stiles interrupts them. “Why isn't Derek here?”

“Traditionally, this is not something either of the two of you should be there for. But because your father is your only family, and everything is so unfamiliar to him...”

“Renegotiations are quite possible, in case you change your minds about any aspects of this discussion,” Peter tells them. “This is just to make it official – since Stiles rushed us a little. We were planning to wait until the Hunger Moon in January.”

“What did I do?”

Talia and Peter exchange amused looks. She says, “You started courting Derek, even though he's the one who gave you the bite.”

Oh, God, they're not talking about the kissing, are they? Stiles opens his mouth, but only a squeak comes out. His face feels hot.

Peter smirks like he can read Stiles' mind. “The gifts, Stiles. We mean the gifts.”

Even dad is trying to smother a smile now. Stiles ignores him. “The things I've been sending? But that's to say sorry I didn't know it was his birthday, not – not courtship.”

“More or less everything you exchange at this point is going to be considered a part of the courtship. You proving you're willing to work hard to make up for an oversight is definitely a part of this courtship.” As she's talking, Peter takes out one of those self-writing quills and murmurs a few things to it. It writes down the date and the place, the agreement title, and their names. “So anyway, I guess we can start now? What are your expectations and do you have any wishes?”

Dad and Stiles look at one another, at a loss.

Talia attempts again, “Regardless of your responses, this is officially a process by which Derek is courting you. All limitations, expectations, wishes – this is where you can express them.”

“Well,” Dad hazards forward. “Stiles has to be free to back out of this anytime he wants.”

“Of course,” Talia says. “The courtship cannot last for less than one year, but all Stiles is required to do is accept the traditional full moon gifts. Everything else, right down to basic communication, is up to him.”

“Alright, that doesn't sound too bad.” Dad looks at Stiles in search for some guidance, but Stiles has no idea what to say so he stares at the quill which writes down things as it sees fit. He is not prepared for this – which frankly isn't fair. It's probably in that book Peter wrote, but Stiles hasn't had the time to read it. He hasn't had the time to at least ask Cora...

“Wait, I have an idea. Cora!”

Cora is down so quickly, she must have been listening from the hallway. Stiles gets up from the sofa, gestures for her to take his place. Confused, she looks at her mom, but seats herself down.

“There, Cora can represent me, with my dad. I trust her to do what's best for both me and Derek.”

Satisfied, Stiles takes the free armchair.

“Is this... possible to do? Cora being a part of Derek's, uh, pack and his sister?” Dad asks carefully.

Talia looks at Peter, who is the expert. He shrugs. “Unprecedented, to the best of my knowledge, but not against any rules. Especially considering that Stiles and Cora have a fully formed pack bond.”

He says something quietly to the quill, which now adds Cora to the names in Stiles' pile.

“Okay,” Cora says, face very serious – yet without a trace of a frown. “I want the pack, um, health care for Stiles.”

“Of course,” Talia says easily.

But Cora's not done. “And his dad.”

“No, Cora.”

“Yes. Come on, it's just the two of them. If something happens to Mr. Stilinski...”

“Whoa,” Stiles interrupts. “Are you talking about the bite? Because no offense, but I don't think either of us wants to be a werewolf.”

“It more than just the bite,” Cora says, still looking at her mom. “There are other health – privileges. And I am asking for you and your dad to have a choice to get the bite, not to get it just because.”

“And I see why you're asking for Stiles, and I agree, but..”

“Mom, you don't know Stiles well at all. If something happens to Mr. Stilinski, I promise, Stiles is just gonna... They're so close, because it's just the two of them. You're -” Cora glances sideways at Stiles quickly, and decides to brave it, “You're just gonna make an enemy out of him if his father dies when you could have done something to prevent it.”

Stiles doesn't say anything, because Cora is right. She is absolutely right. He'd rather his father is a werewolf than dead.

Dad says, “The, um, health care for Stiles is quite enough. It's enough for me.”

“Mom.”

Talia rubs her head, nods. “Fine. Both of them. Anything else?”

“The providing samples. Also for both of them.”

This time, Talia just smiles. “Alright.”

“Okay, what does that mean?” Stiles demands.

Peter explains patiently, “Derek – and we, as his family and pack – is supposed to prove he's capable of providing for you. Nowadays, this means a lot of care packages.”

“It means dad will be sending both of you his pastries about once a week.”

Stiles has a sneaky suspicion that once upon a time it meant bloody carcass and hand processed fur. Pastries are way better, but still... “That's too much, Cora. I mean, they were amazing, what we had on Christmas day, really, but every week? That's way too much.”

“How about we leave it to Ethan's discretion?” Talia offers. “He can and will send as many as he feels like sending. So will the rest of the family.”

“Uh, sure,” Stiles says. “But, um, you really don't have to do any of that.”

“I'll make a note of your modesty,” Peter says dryly.

“Anything else?”

Cora looks at Stiles, “For the full moon gifts – I think Stiles might want them to be mutual?”

Peter launches into the explanation without a prompt this time. “Every full moon, Derek is supposed to give you a gift that shows how much better he's gotten to know you in the previous month, how carefully he's been paying attention. It's symbolic.”

“Mutual,” Stiles decides. Dad nods his approval with a smile.

“Only one other thing I can think of – Stiles should spend the celebrations with us.”

“Some holidays,” Talia says. “The moons, if he wishes, but the solstices and equinoxes surely he'd rather spend with his father?”

“We don't celebrate those at all,” Stiles assures her. “It's okay, I don't want to impose on your family time, though I'd really like to see how a full moon looks like at your house.”

Talia takes a look at what Peter's quill is writing down and nods.

“Nothing else?”

Cora shrugs, looks at Stiles' dad. He says, “Nothing for now. How about you?”

Talia pushes her thick dark hair over her shoulder, “One thing. After the year Derek's had, I don't want this to be a secret. In front of anyone. He's disturbed enough with Kate Argent turning out to be a murderer and I can't imagine what hiding another relationship will do anything for his self-esteem.”

Stiles rather agrees, remembering vividly the way Derek's reacted when Stiles brought up intimate things between them in a public place. “Sure. I only care what my dad and Scott think, and they already know, so.”

There's nothing else to add on either side after that. Peter gives the paper he's been putting together to Stiles to read over and sign.

Dad says, “I'm a little bit uneasy about all this, but it still feels like it calls for a celebration.”

Talia and Peter follow dad into the kitchen to have drinks – in the morning, this better not become a habit. Stiles tells Cora, “Come on, dress up. I need to do some grocery shopping - let me show you around town.”

*

Derek is a little nervous. Or maybe more than a little – Laura wrinkles her nose as soon as she enters the kitchen.

“Seriously?” she says, points her wand at the stove to warm up her late breakfast. “It's not like he's going to say no, stop angsting all over my morning.”

“Shut up,” Derek tells her eloquently. She's never been through this and has no idea what she's on about.

“Nope, not until you let me read that book.”

“I'm not lending you any books until you find the one you lost.”

She sighs. It's an old argument. “It's been years, Der, let it go.”

“I did let it go – I'm just not willing to let any of my other books go the same way.”

Laura makes a face, yawns. “Cora didn't say bye.”

Derek shrugs, “You didn't get up early enough.”

“Fine, if you're gonna be like that, I'll take my conversation elsewhere. Try not to bite anyone accidentally.”

Any other day, that'd earn her at least a warning growl and maybe even a sharp retort, but now Derek just wants her out of the kitchen. It's been hours since Peter and Mom escorted Cora to Beacon Hills, which is the name of the town Stiles lives in. What can possibly be taking that long?

“Derek, please, stop bouncing your leg, you're driving me insane over here,” Nate's voice comes from the floor above some time later, when Laura's long gone. “It'll be fine.”

Derek stills his leg, but doesn't answer. Nate can just close the door if wants his peace. It's not Derek's fault he’s a busybody who's also waiting impatiently for mom and Peter to return.

“Leave him alone,” comes Maya's quieter voice – she's talking to her husband. “Like you're not nervous for him.”

“I'm not nervous, I'm happy. You should hear him, though, every time there's a noise outside, his heart rate triples.”

“You'd better not be insinuating yours didn't when you were waiting for the news on our courtship proceedings.”

Derek smirks. Maya has devious, teasing tendencies of her own, but she's been firmly in Derek's corner over this. She might be eager for some human companionship – their pack does have less human members than it's usual. Aunt Tessa got married and moved away before Maya and Nate even met. She must feel isolated sometimes, when she can't keep up.

Mindful not to show his anxiety, lest he provokes more teasing, Derek takes a glass of juice, and when that's done, an apple. The kitchen is large, the table in the middle wide and long enough to fit the entire pack comfortably. Derek keeps switching chairs, out of sheer inability to stay still, like he's looking for the most comfortable one. He keeps to the part of the kitchen near the window – the part where the collection of Hogwarts' founders figurines is sitting up on in the glass closet is not his favorite place at the moment.

The figurines are expensive, masterfully done by a very talented artist in the nineteenth century – at least that's what Peter says. He's the one who bought them. They are even beautiful, full of colors and life. Derek problem with them right now is the way they're lined up. Every time he looks at them, it reminds him of what he's seen in that theater room at Hogwarts. He's even had a few nightmares since he's got home – no one knows about them, and Derek would rather it stays that way. He isn't afraid of the teasing in that department, but he doesn't want to talk about how unsettling witnessing that scene was.

He's not even sure if half the things he remembers from then are real, and not just the fruit of his imagination. The scent of blood – he knows that is true, because everyone could smell it. The thick darkness, though, surely he's made that up? Stiles cast a lumos, a powerful lumos, but when Derek thinks about it now, he can clearly see in his mind how the light managed to illuminate only the immediate circle around them. He couldn't even tell how large the room was – the sounds were garbled and inconsistent, like the darkness was so thick it occasionally swallowed some of them.

In a way, it reminded him of the ritual they'd performed on Halloween. Like the air was full of something otherworldly, something black and oppressive.

Derek turns away from the glass case, where he's ended up staring and starts making tea. He needs to busy his hands somehow, busy his brain. He wants Mom and Peter back, so he can sink into the comfort of his pack and the promise of this courtship.

He needs to be as far away as he can get from Kate and the disaster she's left in her wake.

When Mom and Peter finally come back, everyone gathers downstairs. Well, Malia is nowhere to be seen, but the twins come running down the stairs, drawn in by the atmosphere and noise.

Peter rolls out the scroll in front of Derek, and everyone are leaning over his head, suddenly, trying to read over him.

“Hey,” Nate says after a minute. “How come his dad gets the pack treatment? Maya's parents didn't get that!”

“Maya didn't appoint your sister to negotiate the terms for her,” Mom answers, voice dry, casting a cooling charm on her tall glass of water on the other side of the table.

Derek hides his smile. He's not even looking the terms, just at the bottom of the paper, where Stiles signed his name. Mom and Peter wouldn't make a contract that'll hurt him – he refuses to believe that anyone involved in putting it together would.

Laura laughs, wrapping her hand around Derek's neck, “It seems like you'll be getting the full moon tokens as well.”

“Wait,” Maya leans closer, too. “I didn't give any tokens – was I supposed to?”

“Of course not!” Nate says.

“It's not traditional,” Mom adds.

“Derek?” Peter calls. He's got a quill is hand, offering it. “Do you want to sign?”

Derek still isn't sure about all aspects of the contract, but he takes it and signs his name on the line. The contract isn't magical, but it's still satisfying to have this officially.

Laura sniffs in his direction, “That's lots better.”

Peter takes the scroll back. He'll be putting it in their family vault, with the rest of the pack's documents, literally, and sentimentally valuable items, as soon as he gets a chance. Derek goes back to his room.

The toy eagle Stiles has sent is lying on Derek's bed. Caleb took an instant liking to it, which didn't diminish even after he discovered it's a muggle toy that isn't charmed to fly or talk. It's softer than the plush toys the wizarding toy manufacturers make. There is a lingering smell of an unfamiliar substance, the inside of the toy has been soaked in it, Derek suspects for protection, but it's not too strong or unpleasant and it's mostly buried under the scent of Stiles. He probably slept with the thing for a few nights before sending it. Maya or Nate must have grabbed the eagle from Caleb and brought it back for Derek.

He's been thinking about going to Prof. Sinistra to explain the situation and demand she put Stiles in a different house. But that won't do. The hat is right, and Ravenclaw is where Stiles belongs – and Stiles obviously thinks so, too. So instead of running away, they should make sure Stiles safely spends time in his house. Derek and Cora – Scott and Allison, too – if Allison even comes back to Hogwarts after the thing with Kate – can stay with him.

Though maybe he should go to Sinistra anyway. There could be some other kid in there, being treated the same way.

There's only one day left till New Year's Eve. Derek thought Stiles was done with the gifts, but that evening Arlene comes looking for him again. There's another muggle book – Derek can't make up his mind if they're ridiculous or fascinating, especially the second one Stiles had sent. They're fun either way, and Dad even took the first one to work with him that morning.

The second part of the gift is two maps wrapped into one another – one of the country and one of Beacon Hills, both marked carefully - and a note that says,

_Cora says you have your apparition license now. If you want – we're going to a party tomorrow night, you should come here and go with us. ~S_

Well. That does sound like fun.

*

Compared to the Hale house, Stiles' place is tiny. Like the dollhouse Cora still keeps up in her room.

Of course, there's just Stiles and his father living in there, so it's probably enough. The outer layer of paint is peeling off, the garden is uncared for. The fence Derek walks through is broken and squeaky.

“Derek's here,” he hears Cora say somewhere in the house.

“Oh?” Mr. Stilinski says mildly.

“What? I told you Lydia said to invite him to her party. You said, and I quote, 'I don't care, just as long as no one calls the police about someone being turned into a frog'.”

“That was a joke, son. Go and invite that boy in.”

And Cora says, “I'll distract myself with a piece of cake.”

“That's all you've been eating,” Stiles mutters, much closer now. “If you get sick, it's not my fault.”

“Never been sick a day in my life,” Cora answers, but Derek doesn't think Stiles can hear her any longer, since he's opening the white door Derek has almost reached.

“Except when you got poisoned,” Derek reminds Cora quietly. She ignores him, already digging into her treat.

“Huh?” Stiles asks. He looks tired. Like he hasn't had a good night sleep in weeks. There are dark circles around his eyes, his face is pale otherwise. He looked like he was getting sick on Christmas day, and it's gotten worse. But he's smiling, happy and relaxed and Derek is so glad he could come here.

“Just talking to Cora.”

“Right,” Stiles says. “Hi.”

He always looks a little like he's not sure what his arms are for. He remembers as soon as Derek catches his wrist to draw him in, trails his fingers down Derek's back and through his hair. Derek drags his nose over the bite, humming with pleasure it's still there, rich and potent. Stiles smells kind of tired, too, but also content, settled. Like meat and vegetables – he's been cooking something, or at least helping someone cook. Derek can actually feel him smiling into his shoulder.

“Hi,” Derek finally answers. “You haven't been sleeping.”

“That's invasive,” Stiles grumbles, but doesn't move away - like Derek would let him if he tried.

“Nightmares,” Cora butts in.

“Nightmares?” Derek asks him.

“Hm.” Stiles starts to pull out of the hug, slowly, and then his eyes widen. “You're wearing it.”

He crooks his finger into the chain around Derek's neck and takes the necklace out.

“That's... what it's for, right?”

“Well, yeah, but it's still amazing you like it enough to wear it.”

“It's not a matter of liking it,” Derek tells him with an eye roll. It's a gift, of course he'll wear it. “Though I do like it.”

He's telling the truth. It's finer than any jewelry Derek has ever seen, the details so clear. The impression of the full moon is unbelievably realistic, and it's all secured in silver, which always bears a whisper of moon magic. It makes him feel physically and emotionally better when he's wearing it.

“So if I'd sent, like, a fish head pendant, you'd still wear it?”

Stiles is just teasing, but a fish head? Where'd he even get that? “Sure. But thanks for not sending it, I guess.”

“I don't know, I kinda wanna see your face when someone notices it around your neck.”

“Notice-me-not charm is very easy to perform, Stiles. No one would be seeing that around my neck.”

But Stiles just smiles, gestures him toward the door, “You'd still wear it, though.”

“As we've established already.”

The house is warmer on the inside, and better preserved. Some colors are faded, some furniture crumbling from the inside, but the scents are heavy and welcoming – the cooking food, Stiles and his dad, Cora slowly blending in. The tiniest whiff of mom, a somewhat more insistent echo of Peter.

It actually feels like home, a little bit.

“Anyone remembered that needs to be stirred occasionally?” Stiles says as soon as they walk into the kitchen. The meat on the stove doesn't smell burnt – just yet.

“If I knew that, I'd cook myself,” Mr. Stilinski says, getting up from the table to offer his hand. “Derek. You staying the night?”

“Haha, dad,” Stiles says before Derek can open his mouth. “You gonna take out your shotgun next?”

Mr. Stilinski straightens a smile. “If he knows what it is. It wouldn't be fun otherwise.”

Stiles leaves the meat to brown on the other side, turns with his eyes narrowed and thoughtful. “Well, I guess you could always show him... But those pesky neighbors, with their good hearing and their phones, just waiting for a way to quell boredom by way of dialing the emergency number. Maybe better not.”

“And I have a shift soon, and my shirt won't iron itself. There's time, though. Maybe I could take Derek hunting with me next fall, with the guys.”

“You cheater,” Stiles tells his father, but they're both grinning.

Derek has only a vague idea of what they're talking about, but he's not taking them seriously. Cora wanders in with an empty plate, presses herself against Derek's shoulder for a few seconds. “Come on, I wanna show you the story box Breadan used to play for me when Laura had to take me along. This one has real people, not just drawings.”

Stiles waves them out. “Yeah, go watch television, I'll just put this in the oven first.”

Derek has never been particularly interested in the story box Cora always talked about as a kid, but he follows her into the living room now. He quickly changes his opinion, because the box is telling them now a story about the Ancient Mayan people. Derek knows a little about their magic practices, since they teach it in History of Magic at Hogwarts, but not about how these people lived and looked like. Cora hasn't yet figured out how to make the box start a story from the beginning, so they settle on following what they can for now. There's a lot of pictures – quality, long looped pictures, that help.

It's not very box-like in shape, though. More like a large picture frame. Derek wonders where the name comes from.

Some time later, Stiles brings in plates of food. Back at home, they always eat at the table and aren't allowed any books with them. This is fun, though. They get to keep watching the story, with plates of food in their laps. Even Mr. Stilinski comes down to watch and eat with them.

After the story about the Mayans comes one about the lives of prisoners in these different prisons all over the world. It's a bit harder to follow, but not uninteresting. Stiles falls asleep against the backrest next to Derek, then his head falls into the space between Derek's back and the couch. It's a little funny, but his breathing is even and easy, heartbeat steady. He needs sleep, Derek thinks. So he doesn't move until it becomes really hard to keep his back that way.

Mr. Stilinski takes the dirty plates to the kitchen. When he comes back - just when the prisoners in the box are learning how to garden - he takes Stiles by his sweater and pulls him up. Derek is a little thrown off – surely he wants Stiles to get some sleep, too?

“When he's like this,” Mr. Stilinski whispers, “only a bomb going off would wake him. Hold this in your lap.”

Derek takes the offered cushion, leans back. Mr. Stilinski then carefully lets go of his son who just keeps sleeping through it all, his nose now against Derek's shirt, and peels the covering off the couch to put over him. There's a folded piece of paper, peeking from under the edge of the cover. Derek picks it up. Cora is still hypnotized by the story box, and Mr. Stilinski is putting on his coat, getting ready for work, so Derek opens it to see what it is. The handwriting is familiar, Peter's, so he reads on.

_Yes and no. Virginity is a social construct..._

Derek frowns at the paper, at the top of Stiles' sleeping head. Why is Peter writing to him about this?

_...but that doesn't mean it doesn't hold any power. In fact, I have a good reason to believe that this particular social construction was forged as an attempt of parents to save, or at least buy a few years of life for their children. The aspect of virginal sacrifices that holds power isn't the lack of sex itself, but the innocence intertwined with the notion._

_Despite the successfulness of the invention, the price of actual innocence hasn't dropped with time. In terms of sacrificial value, a life of an innocent is nowadays worth more, not less, because of it. But even the few people who still know this often use the replacement regardless – taking a life of child, after all, leaves a terrible scar on your soul. It's only rarely worth the trouble. A life of a teenager - a near adult in possession of innocence only through the lack of sexual experience – in comparison, isn't as significant in terms of consequences._

_There are two reasons I can think of to explain why our mysterious culprit has decided on taking not one, but four innocent lives, and both are about equally alarming. Either they have a truly large goal in mind, something that requires a serious magical power to accomplish, or they are trying to recreate an ancient ritual._

_I am leaning toward the second option. We've talked about the paint and herbs mixture used for the symbols already – the method of blending is beyond outdated. The symbols are archaic, their accurate translation nearly impossible. I am still working on it._

_Any other questions?_

There's no signature, but it's not like Peter has tried to cover that he's the one who's written the letter. It's his handwriting, and his scent is all over the paper. And these murders, they are definitely something Peter would take an interest in. Because it's potentially dangerous, because Derek and Cora are supposed to go back to Hogwarts, because of Kate.

Derek isn't surprised Stiles took an interest in this, either. But it is weird that Peter would indulge him, write down his theories and opinions for Stiles just because he's been asked to. The contains of the letter are quite disturbing on their own... and Peter made it sound like they don't know who killed those kids. Like maybe he didn't think it was Kate, after all.

“What?”

Derek looks up at Cora, worried frown on her face. She's reached for the letter, and he lets her take it from his hand. After a few minutes, she looks up from the letter, wide-eyed, “They think they're sacrifices? To – to what? What for?”

“I don't know. We'll ask when he wakes up. But... is it just me or they seem to think it's not Kate?”

Cora skims through the letter quickly. “I don't know. Mysterious culprit - I guess it does sound like they don't know – but that doesn't mean you're gonna find her and go back to it, right? Derek...”

“Don't be stupid,” Derek tells her, before she stops controlling her voice completely and wakes up Stiles. “I'm just – I keep thinking I should have known that she was capable of this. That maybe, if I'd seen it coming...”

Cora doesn't say anything, offers the letter back. She turns back to the story box, though her ability to follow it is clearly shot. Derek folds the letter back and tucks it into one of Stiles' pockets, where he suspects it had fallen out from.

Open mouthed and mumbling something, Stiles folds himself tighter into a ball. Like maybe he's cold. Derek puts the cover back on him, makes sure no limbs are sticking out. He doesn't even feel a prolonged urge to look at Stiles' neck any longer, to make sure the bite is there. This ability to freely take care of him - to sit and relax in his house, while Stiles is sleeping, safe, and their scents are slowly mixing - it's deeply satisfying.

Cora is being ridiculous. Derek wouldn't trade this for a hundred Kates – even if not a single one of them is a demented killer.

*

The pajama top Stiles sent a few days ago? It's not a pajama at all. It's a shirt, meant to be worn outside, in front of people. And Stiles insists Derek needs to wear it tonight. He's also dressed up Cora like a doll, and she's secretly enjoying every minute of it. It's easy for her, she's wearing clothes they've seen hundreds of times on muggleborn students at Hogwarts.

The house of this friend of Stiles', Lydia, is actually a mansion, a good size place even compared to the Hale house. More importantly, it's close, on the other end of the street – Derek would be able to hear if Mr. Stilinski drove his vehicle home while they're not there – not that he will. He's apparently working all night.

There's a lot of people at Lydia's already when they come in through her front gate. Voices come from all over the house, and some from the backyard. Unfamiliar music is throbbing steadily. There's a lot of alcohol involved, and the mixture of countless different perfumes makes him a little queasy as they approach the front door.

Stiles rings a bell. As they wait, Cora turns to Derek, with distaste written all over her face.

“The perfume?” she asks.

Derek shrugs. She feels it too. It's a weakness of some sort, like he's really tired.

The door opens and the girl on the other side raises an amused eyebrow at Stiles.

“Glad you could make it this time,” she says.

“Lydia,” Stiles grins happily at her. “This is Cora, the friend I was telling you about, and Derek.”

Stiles is introducing Cora first, but Lydia is looking at Derek, eyes quick and assessing and pleased.

“I believe I will take the credit for the favorable state of your taste, Stiles,” Lydia says haughtily. Then she switches her appraising gaze to Cora and... and Derek would prefer to be elsewhere at the moment. Since when do people look at his kid sister that way? “Come on in, guys. Make yourselves comfortable.”

Inside the house, the weird feeling of weakness remains but Derek is getting used to it. Cora is relaxing, too, watching people around them with interest.

Stiles goes to another room and comes back after a minute with drinks. He leans to whisper after Derek accepts his, “Was I imagining that, or were there sparks flying back there?”

Derek groans, “Do I have to think about that?”

Lydia comes back and sweet talks Cora somehow into going to dance with her. Derek doesn't see much of them later, not after Stiles grabs them a comfortable bench in the back yard – the cold keeps only the most stubborn – or the drunkest – people out, so it's almost private. They sit close together in the yellow light of the fake lanterns, for warmth and contact, hands intertwined and Stiles' feet tucked under Derek's knees. Stiles tells him all these little, amusing stories - about having a huge crush on Lydia when they were younger, about some other people who live on the street, teachers who taught him before Hogwarts. Derek wants more to talk about Peter's letter, but it's not that private in Lydia's yard. He'll ask later.

When it's almost midnight, they go back into the house to look for Cora. Instead, they come across an unexpected, but a very familiar person.

Jackson Whittemore glares at them when they run into him in the hallway.

“Hale,” he says, then looks around with a frown, as if making sure no one is there to witness his slip.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Stiles demands.

“Getting my parents off my back – what are you doing here?”

“I live just down the street... You know Lydia?”

Jackson smirks, “ Biblically .”

“Ugrh.”

“Whittemore,” Derek finally acknowledges the guy. He's the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, and a Prefect.

“Hale,” Jackson repeats, nods his chin at Stiles. “That's some trade down from a teacher, eh?”

The captain and a Prefect, and a fucking moron, too. Derek snorts, trying to hold in laughter. “You're not even a slightest bit into guys, are you?”

Jackson's face morphs into something between indignity and confusion. “Uh. No?”

“It shows,” Derek assures him.

Recovering, Jackson rolls his eyes, “Well, as fun as this wasn't...”

Derek nods and follows Stiles to the opposite direction from the one Jackson took. He's trying to catch Cora's scent – they were on their way to find her – but there's too many people in the small space and Derek is having a hard time distinguishing anything. He's actually having a harder time than he should be having – like his nose isn't working all that well.

Distracted, he follows Stiles outside again, to the front yard. There are a few more vehicles out there now, each shinier and rounder than the previous one. The music is less of a pressure on his ears, but Derek somehow feels like he can hear it better out here.

Something is going on, Derek's pretty sure of it.

“Somehow, you made it sound like I'm quite a catch,” Stiles says, drags him away from the weird train of thought.

“What?”

“Like, I know Kate loses a whole bunch of points on the murder suspect thing, but still... You made me sound...”

“Yes?” Derek asks, a little sharply.

“You know. Like. Desirable.”

“You can't be this stupid,” Derek says. He doesn't think Stiles is stupid, he thinks Stiles is insecure, that his self-image is warped and unreliable. “What do you think I'm doing here, with you?”

At this strange house, among strange people, away from home and his pack? There'd be nothing for Derek here, if not that he's got to spend time out there in the backyard, with Stiles.

“I don't know. I mean, I do, it's just - it's all a little... platonic? Sometimes. I guess.”

He sounds apologetic and resolved at the same time. His cheeks are red from the cold, mouth – like always – half open. Derek's not good with words and he isn't sure how to go about this. How to explain himself and what he sees and feels, so it'll stick. They've been standing close already, but he steps closer, wraps his hand around Stiles' neck. His fingers brush the bite and it sings back to him, vibrates with warmth, potential, the urge to take.

“I've been trying not to push you,” Derek says slowly. Stiles has never done this – any of this – before. He shouldn't feel like he has to do anything he doesn't want to.

“And I've been trying not to push you, Derek, but...”

Derek presses his fingers into the bite to make him stop talking, can feel Stiles match his shudder against his chest when he pulls him in. “It's not platonic.”

The very notion is ridiculous, Derek thinks, listening as Stiles' heart trips and hummers on, inhaling the fast-rising flush off his skin like fumes of a highly addictive potion. Hands slide up his shirt, knuckles brush the skin of Derek's stomach, leaving icy trails where they move. Derek's fingers make Stiles gasp as they spasm, still attached to his neck – and there goes the intention not to push.

There's not going to be much holding back tonight.

But, for now, because Derek remembers clearly the effect it's had on him, he warns, “No biting or hair pulling until we're alone.”

Stiles smiles lopsidedly, eyes on Derek's mouth and his breath sweet, “How 'bout scratching? Pushing? Stomping on your foot?”

“Stiles,” Derek warns. But as much he's managed to say, it's enough for now, it seems. He only needs to respond in kind to the experimental pressure against his lips – and not demand something he's not sure Stiles is ready to give.

Their scents are spiking up, simmering together to a blend, otherwise Derek would maybe pay a closer attention to the way Stiles is changing angles, testing for responses. The kissing escalates quickly, turns hot and deep. Derek likes this, likes the way Stiles inhales, startled, every time he manages to drag a noise out of Derek - like it's such an accomplishment, like that's what he wants to spend all his time doing.

Derek threads his fingers into his hair, holds on as Stiles leans them against one of the vehicles. They're pressed together head to toe and Stiles is just breathing hotly against Derek's neck for a moment. Then he shifts, angles himself so his hip is pressing hard against Derek's crotch, and lets out a wet gasp that instantly has Derek fight off the hot itch of the shift.

“Okay, not platonic,” Stiles is muttering, mouth open, pressing again with his hip like he has to double check that Derek is already turned on and hard.

Derek's hands drop to his hips, align them better – and okay, this kind of friction is as close as you can get to having sex with your clothes still on. Stiles doesn't seem to mind it any more than Derek does, for the moment. He's moving his hips in drawn-out, slow rolls, fingers digging into Derek's flesh like he's trying to keep him there. Derek's nose fills with the heady scent of precome.

It almost breaks him to put a stop to this, pull Stiles off him just a little, but they need to get out of there. They need privacy.

“Let's go back to your house,” Derek whispers when Stiles directs a confused, putout frown at him.

“Oh. Yeah. Good – good thinking.”

It's not as much thinking as it's an instinct to not let anyone but him see Stiles like this, but Derek just nods, takes his hand. Now that they've separated enough that he can, in fact, think, it is a good idea in more than one regard. It's cold outside, and Stiles isn't wearing a jacket. He might get sick.

Derek leans in and licks into his mouth – it's a filthy kiss full of promise - then says, “Come on, then.”

Their arms brush with every step as they walk down the street, but they don't stop even once before Stiles is taking out the key to unlock his front door. Unlike the neighboring houses, his isn't all decorated for the holiday and the lights are off. Stiles tilts his head sideways to try and see where he's putting the key better and the long stretch of his neck is too much for Derek right now.

He leans to put his mouth there. Stiles lets him lick, suck and bite, keys forgotten and one palm flat against the door, holding him steady. He's keening, a little, mumbling half words and Derek's name, not once trying to cut off Derek's access. The mark is huge and dark when Derek is done his meticulous work on it. For a moment, he's surprised, he's almost been expecting it to heal right over – but it doesn't. Derek noses it, and it smells like his spit, like blood and Stiles.

He must have voiced the deep satisfaction that's thrumming in his chest somehow, because Stiles turns to look at him over his shoulder. He looks a wreck, eyes shining wildly, and he smiles. But all he says is, “My hands are unsteady.”

Derek takes the key from his hand and unlocks the door to let them in. He's not feeling too steady himself, but that's mostly in his head. His hands smoothly run through the process.

Stiles slams the door behind them, hooks the keys on the coat hanger in the hallway. “My room will smell like Cora,” he warns.

Derek isn't sure why that's important for a moment – but yeah, there's plenty about werewolves Stiles still doesn't get. “That's different – it won't bother me.”

Stiles shakes his head, shrugs – it certainly won't bother him - says, “Well, come on, then.”

But he's nervous, suddenly. It's bitter, and it's swelling and spreading rapidly around them. They both need a distraction. So Derek puts his hands back on Stiles, drags him in closer. Stiles melts into the kiss immediately. When the last trace of bitterness is gone, he lets off, leads them upstairs.

“You're sure you want to do this?”

“Yes,” Stiles says clearly. “But, um, I'd feel better about it if I knew what, exactly, are we doing?”

Derek sighs, because he's thought he's been clear about not wanting to push. “Whatever you want to. Just that.”

“Whatever I want to?” Stiles leans back to take a good look at him, licks his lips. “And you - you'll let me?”

“Within reason,” Derek says suspiciously, recognizing mischief. He's witnessed more than once odd turns and weird places Stiles' brain can go to.

But Stiles waves him off, unconcerned. “Take your shirt off.”

That's easy enough, the stupid shirt he's been wearing barely even gave him the feeling of being dressed. Derek drops it in a heap on the chair. When he turns back to Stiles, he's reaching to ghost a touch over Derek's stomach.

“Is this a werewolf thing or – what did they have you do in those detentions?”

“You gonna stare at me all night?” Derek asks after a minute of quiet.

Stiles hooks his finger in Derek's pants and pulls him toward the bed. “No - but if I did, I wouldn't be bored for a second of it. Take your shoes off, lie down.”

Derek is maybe enjoying a little too much the awe that's so clear on Stiles' face when he stretches on the bed. It's hard not to. He's been feeling so content already, with Stiles not nervous any longer, surrounded here by so many aspects of him. Those long fingers are back again, tracing the skin of Derek's stomach and chest, blunt fingernails digging occasionally - just hard enough to test the skin. It's like Stiles is looking for the most sensitives spots on Derek, and every time he gets a response – a startled inhale, a twitch – he goes back to the spot to explore it, to learn the anatomy of it by heart.

His thumb lightly, but deliberately, presses against Derek's nipple. It's so different from the easy prodding, like a lit match to his bloodstream, and Derek groans and his hips buck off the bed without permission, seeking friction. Stiles whispers, “God,” closes his eyes like the sight of Derek is just too much for him to take right now – and repeats the movement of his thumb, sure and firm.

Derek's body reacts the same, only there's another hand on his hip now, pushing him back onto the mattress. Stiles looks up at him. “I'm gonna take your pants off now. Okay?”

It's okay – it sounds perfect – and Derek nods at him. Stiles a little uncoordinated in his haste, and he takes the underwear off, too. He frees Derek's legs, throws the clothes unceremoniously on the floor and when he turns back to look at Derek, the noise he makes sounds like a sob.

“Okay,” he says, voice shaky. “Okay.”

Derek can't help it, he's too amused. He raises his eyebrow, “Okay?”

He might need to be more careful with the teasing in the future, because Stiles only looks at him through narrowed eyes for a second before he shifts his weight, leans in and licks the tip of Derek's cock.

“Yeah,” he says, both hands firm on Derek's hips and just barely managing to keep him down. “Okay.”

Derek – needs to ask something, something important, but he might be having a heart attack or something. He's breathing through his mouth, panting loudly in the quiet of the room and Stiles is watching him with a smugness that looks devastatingly good on him.

But. “Are you sure you don't want us to switch places?”

“Oh, I definitely do. A little later. Let me – just let me do this now.”

 _Do this_ apparently means play around. Which shouldn't be as hot as it turns out to be – the little licks, the gentle sucks, an occasional – accidental - scrape of teeth. It's slow – and wet, and accompanied by a litany of thoughtful hums and breathy gasps – but Derek is still too close far too soon. He keeps his hands pressed palms down into the mattress, just in case he loses control of his shift – but it doesn't come to that. As edged on as he feels, there's also an easy control in the safety of Stiles around him, in his telling scent and determined curiosity and sharp interest.

Derek lets out a warning that's all breathless noise and no words before he comes. Stiles still startles and looks shocked, like the toy he's been playing with has done something unexpected. Derek will laugh at him – just as soon as his lungs remember what their purpose is.

Stiles laughs first, though he's still panting a little, words shivery, “So. That happened.”

Derek pushes off to sit up in the bed, wipes a bead of come off his cheek before pressing a kiss onto his red mouth. “What did you think would happen?”

“Thought your stamina would be better, honestly. Like, it'd be dawn and I'd still be trying to get you off.”

Derek reaches between them, unbuckles Stiles' belt and pants one-handed. “Let's see how your stamina is, then.”

He knows it won't take long, though, he can smell it on Stiles and see it in the vacant look in his eyes when Derek takes him out and wraps his hand around him. That's why he doesn't change their position, doesn't bother to do anything but squeeze a little and pull – Stiles was right before, they have time. They have all night. A whole year. All the time they want.

So it doesn't take long, and Derek is pleased he got off and can witness this without distractions. Stiles grabs onto Derek's neck with both hands, keeps himself close and leveled. His mouth leaves moist traces on Derek's cheek whenever he whimpers and groans with the right turn of Derek's wrist – and he goes completely silent when he comes, breathing cut off and spine rigid. Only the scent of come explodes around them, envelops them both and drips onto Derek's naked thigh.

Stiles lets his head drop and starts breathing again against Derek's shoulder. He mumbles, “Embarrassing.”

“What?”

“My stamina. Like, whoa embarrassing.”

Derek laughs at him, pulls him up to slot them together, heads sharing the pillow. “Yeah, we need to start working on that immediately. You have fifteen minutes to recover.”

“Sex Nazi,” Stiles grumbles sleepily.

“And we're getting rid of your clothes, too, this time,” Derek informs him. He pulls the cover over them and settles back in, feeling a little drowsy himself.

Stiles moves the cover with a slow shrug, “Not much underneath them.”

“Just you, huh?” Derek says, holds him tighter.

Stiles is too far gone to answer with anything but a disbelieving hum and Derek follows his example, closes his eyes. He's never got a chance to nap after sex before – never even seen the appeal of it. Their scents are so blended they've almost settled into a new one - the one that'll from now on mark them as a couple to anyone who cares to pay attention to it. Derek breathes it in again and again, and it lulls him to sleep.

Derek wakes up to a weird noise and Stiles trying to reach over him to grab a lit machine he's been occasionally fumbling on earlier that day.

“Let me up,” he demands sleepily, so Derek rolls away and lets him get up. He frowns at the lit part of the device, thumbs it and puts it to his ear – ah, it's a telephone of some sort. “Hello?”

“Stilinski, get over here and get your werewolf,” a voice says through the telephone. It's distorted, but unmistakably Jackson Whittemore's.

“What? Where'd you get my number?”

“Look, it's enough there's one girl running around half naked, come and get this one at least.”

Derek gets up, starts sorting his clothes – Stiles', too, apparently he's woken up at some point after Derek has fallen asleep and got out of his pants and shirt. He's just thrown them to the floor, probably not even bothering to get up but still, Derek should have sensed him moving that much. He should have woken up.

Huh. Interesting.

“What's going on?” Stiles is demanding. “Has something happened at...”

“We're at,” there's a pause on the other side of the phone, “The sign says 'the hole in the wall' – what in Merlin's name...?”

“It's a coffee shop. Cora's with you?”

“Yes, dumbass, that's what I've been telling you. Come fetch her.”

“Right, we're coming,” Stiles says. His telephone darkens. “What the hell is going on? Did he just say there are two girls running half-naked around town?”

“And one of them is my sister – here, this is yours.”

They dress quickly. It's about three in the morning, the new year has started already.

It's colder outside now, fog a little thicker. There's something familiar flickering in the air around them, tickling Derek's nose occasionally, playing with his hearing. It's not pleasant, and it's not strong enough to trigger the memory of where he knows it from.

Stiles takes them through a shortcut – behind someone's house, they leave their footsteps in the undisturbed thin layer of snow that has covered the town at some point while they were sleeping. It's not a large town and Derek can sense the widespread of trees beyond it with a sense that his rational human mind can't really explain and define. It's mostly just the feeling that he can run out there, hunt. It smells clean, though. Cleaner than most places, not as polluted.

It's a good town.

“You're not worried,” Stiles says.

“About Cora? She might be hurt, but it's not very serious if I can't sense it.”

He can't feel her being hurt, not at all – and Stiles would feel it, too. Stiles is taking them almost to the same direction he can feel she's at when he focuses on the bond they share, so at least Jackson hasn't tried to trick them.

“That's good. Weird, though, huh? I mean, she doesn't do this often?”

“Not that I know of,” Derek assures him dryly, thinking back on the glimpses he's caught of Cora dancing with Lydia.

Derek hears Cora and Jackson long before they reach them.

“You're being an idiot,” Jackson is saying. “You'll get arrested if anyone sees you – people might be actually watching from the inside and are calling the police right now.”

“Stop talking to me, or I will punch you in the throat.”

“Just take the jacket!”

Cora snarls, and as they turn the corner, Derek can hear Jackson's heart going into an overdrive. She's in her underwear and a shirt that doesn't cover much.

“Take the jacket, Cora,” Derek tells her brusquely. “Are you trying to create trouble for Mr. Stilinski?”

“What?” Stiles demands, squinting into the shadows before them.

Cora's back stiffens before she grabs the jacket Jackson's been holding out to her.

“Make sure you return it. It's expensive,” Jackson demands of Cora, even though his heartbeat is still showing signs of fear.

They're finally close enough for Stiles to see and hear them. He waves his hands at Jackson, almost hits Derek's face. “What the hell? What's going on?”

“I called the police. Take this one home before they take her in,” Jackson says. “Also, Stilinski, you owe me for this.”

“That doesn't make any sense. First, I have no idea what kind of favor you think you've done for me and second, Cora is Derek's sister – and Derek is right here. Why not try to get a favor in turn from the Hales, who can actually return it?”

Jackson opens his mouth to answer, but he looks startled. Cora jumps in before he can. “Same difference. And shut the hell up, all of you, and help me find Lydia.”

Jackson raises his hands, “Yeah, no. I'm out of here.”

“Lydia – Lydia's missing?”

“What happened?” Derek asks, because Cora is seriously upset. “How long has Lydia been missing?”

“I don't know. I woke up and she was gone. I was about to pick up my clothes and go back, but then this asshole said, that oh yeah, she does that, someone must have died.”

“She does. She's a fucking weirdo.”

“Okay, but how does she know if someone's died or not?” Stiles demands. “Is she clairvoyant? Doesn't that qualify her for Hogwarts, through?”

Jackson snorts. “Right.”

“Jackson....”

Cora's done waiting. She huffs and starts to walk. Derek grabs Jackson's arm and pulls him along, following his sister. “Can you track her?”

“No,” Cora says, frustrated. “Not at all. I don't know – he isn't wrong, she is weird. I can't seem to quite remember her scent.”

Derek thought he can't recall Lydia's scent because he hadn't been paying attention. Jackson is right, she's weird.

Stiles is keeping up on Jackson's other side. “When did she do this before? My father never said anything. Are you sure someone's dead? Maybe she just went out for a walk. And how do you know she was naked?”

“I don't. She was naked back in the riding school this summer, though. One of the groomers hung herself, Lydia left in the middle of the night in her underwear and found her. She was screaming until she woke everyone up.”

“So it happened once – she might have heard something.”

“I witnessed it once,” Jackson snaps. “She admitted, it had happened before. She didn't hear anything, she just, Merlin, I don't know, she sensed it.”

“So she must be clairvoyant.”

“You're an idiot. She's not magical. Hale, how long are you planning on dragging me along?”

“Until we find Lydia.” Or until he explains all he knows about her, anyway.

“How do you know she's not magical?” Stiles demands.

“Because she's not, okay? She just ruins everything – you can't even do magic around her, it's like she sucks it all out of you. Haven't you noticed?”

“I never tried to do magic in front of her. I barely know her,” Stiles says, glances at Derek with a questioning eyebrow.

“I've been feeling a little off at her house, but...”

Cora turns back to them, “Yeah, it's like all my senses were dulled.”

They are walking unfamiliar streets that Cora is picking randomly, but Derek doesn't have a better idea for the moment. It's a small town, they'll find something eventually.

Finally, Jackson offers, “You know that my father is a pureblood.”

“Oh, wow, good for you, congratulations – I can't believe you managed to successfully include that random piece of information into this completely unrelated conversation,” Stiles snaps.

“I'm getting to it, gasbag. Our house is a couple of centuries old, it had one of the best and oldest sets of wards in the country.”

Sharply, Stiles repeats, “Had?” Derek hasn't even noticed the past tense.

“Yeah. Had. Until we invited Lydia to come spend a weekend with us. Our mothers grew up together. My father had the same theory about clairvoyance and he wanted to test it or something – but as soon as Lydia walked through the gate, our wards fell. Actually, everything magical in the house stopped working, like she sucked it all out. I told you, she ruins everything.”

Stiles takes out his wand wordlessly, casts a quiet warming charm – they are second nature by now. It works, Derek can smell it. It also makes Stiles' scent warm from the blood that rushes in relief. He probably hasn't even noticed he's been cold. He still smells like Derek, too.

“She hasn't sucked the magic out of us, though.”

Jackson rolls his eyes, “That's because you keep producing it or whatever. Try to cast a charm on her when you find her, you'll see.”

Derek's been focusing on his sense of smell, so when this tiny little whiff of a scent reaches him, he takes notice. He orders, “Stop.”

Even Cora, who's been keeping ahead of them, freezes and turns. “You got something?”

“Not Lydia,” Derek tells her, closes his eyes to try and recall where he'd smelled this before – it's familiar and very, very unpleasant. It's blood, but there's also a hint of an unfamiliar herb... “It's – that same smell, like at Hogwarts?”

“With the children?” Stiles wants to know, his voice weak.

“Oh, no. The hell with you people, I'm out of here,” Jackson says, fear coming off him like a tide.

Derek inhales again. “Yes.”

Cora is sniffing the air openly. “I don't smell it.”

That doesn't mean much, everyone knows scenting and tracking is Derek's thing. He's just better at it than anyone else in the family – except potentially Malia, but it's not proven yet.

According to Peter, there have been a few instances like the one at Hogwarts across the country since they left the school. Four people have been killed so far, each in a different – completely random, it seems – location. Peter went to each of them as soon as he heard, and confirmed the scent they are all unlikely to ever forget. The DMLE has no suspects, no clues. So it's not impossible there's been another one, even if it is an unlikely coincidence.

Derek directs them, “This way,” dragging Jackson along.

“What about Lydia?” Cora asks. She's reeking of anxiety.

“If Lydia's really where someone's died, then we'll probably find it at the source of this smell,” Stiles tells her firmly. He's keeping closer to Cora now, shoulders hunched and face blank.

There's still a chance that they won't find anyone dead, but the closer they come, the surer Derek is. It's the same smell, the same terrible combination of smells. It's only a few streets and a longish stretch of an empty road, woods on one side, before they come to a stop in front of a large house that looks like it's in its first stages of abandonment. Derek releases Jackson's arm, wanting his hands free.

“Should we call the aurors?” Stiles asks quietly, as Derek and Cora focus all their senses on the house.

“Sure,” Jackson snipes. “Just let me get the floo powder real quick, get to a fireplace and connect it to the network. Should take but a week.”

“As impressive as that show of sarcasm is, there must be a quicker way. A spell call? Some wand waving, like with the bus?”

“We need to go inside,” Cora says. “I can hear someone moving in there.”

“We need to get out of here.”

Stiles digs up his telephone, pokes at it. “Dad?”

“Stiles,” he father says from the other side. “Tell me you're home.”

“Yeah, sorry. No. We're looking for Lydia, too.”

“Tell me at least Derek and Cora are with you.”

“And another friend from school,” Stiles says generously. “We think we might know where she is, dad. We're there now, but...”

“Where are you?”

“That old mansion, the one where you got my new desk from? We're outside.”

“And stay outside, I'm on my way. In fact, get away from there right now. Do you hear me?”

“Sorry, dad. I gotta call the aurors now, okay? Bye.” Stiles puts away his telephone and takes his wand back into his dominant hand. “We have to go in. My dad will come here – and I can't, I. I have to protect him.”

“Killing yourself won't protect anyone, Stilinski.”

“If we're going inside,” Cora impatiently demands, “Then let's go.”

“Just a sec,” Stiles tells her, lifting his wand like he's summoning the Knight Bus. Derek is waiting to see what he's up to – and is startled when the Knight Bus actually comes to a screeching stop in front of them, like there's been something unclear about the way Stiles has held his wand up.

The door open, and the conductor steps out to welcome them in.

“Look,” Stiles instantly interrupts. “We need you to go and get the aurors. Please.”

The conductor frowns, displeased, “Is this a joke?”

“No. There's someone dead inside this house, okay, and we think it's by magical means. You don't joke about stuff like that. Just, please, there's no fireplace we can use and they need to come.”

Derek digs through his pocket, grabs the three galleons he's got. “Here, take this as compensation.”

The conductor looks at gold in his hand, at them again. He shrugs, “Fine, but I will be telling them exactly where to find you kids. Bet there's not a lot of wizards and witches in this town, they'll get you easy.”

“Hopefully before whoever killed the person inside kills us, too. Hurry!”

The Knight Bus leaves them to the empty, silent street. Stiles brushes against Derek for a short, short second before he's marching determinedly toward the front door. Cora and Derek exchange glances, a quick – _we're following, right? Right._ – and they leave Jackson to stand out there on the street. Someone should probably be there when Mr. Stilinski comes anyway.

The doors are ajar, they have no problem entering the house. And the feeling inside, yeah. It's exactly the same as it was at Hogwarts. The deep dark – all three of them summon light as soon as they walk through the door and it's not enough – the weird effect the sounds make. Derek can barely get anything apart from the scent of blood and herbs, but he can still catch anxiety from Stiles and disgust from Cora.

Lydia is in the next room over. Derek sees her, hears her heartbeat from this distance, but he can't pinpoint her scent. She's kneeling in front of a huge, obviously wizarding fireplace – there it was all along, as they discussed calling the aurors outside.

Only at Cora's choked off gasp does Derek look up, to the space above the mantle. And it's – Merlin. It might be worse than the children.

There's a man hang up there, blood trickling down his naked legs and onto Lydia's head. She's kneeling there, staring at the wall, as if in a trance. She's been there for a while, her hair is wet with blood.

Stiles goes to her, catches her face in his hand. “Lydia.” She doesn't respond, even as he tries to wipe it clean. “Come on, you gotta get out of here. Please, Lydia.”

It's not going to work. Cora is useless, still staring up at the suspended man. “His eyes,” she's whispering, and Derek needs to get her out of there. Lydia is a bigger problem right now, because she's worse off and because if they need to fight, Stiles won't be able to use magic as long as she's close by. And Derek and Cora might not be able to shift.

He pushes Stiles out of his way, picks Lydia up. He never had that much difficulty to pick a person up – and she's a tiny girl, short and slight. He should barely feel her weight. Yet he's struggling to keep a hold on her as he carries her out.

“Cora,” he hisses lowly on his way past her. “Snap out of it and keep an eye on him!”

She blinks, sort of nods. Derek hurries to get Lydia outside. He takes her all the way to the other side of the road, puts her down as gently as possible. Her widened eyes are staring through him.

“Stay with her,” Derek tells Jackson, who is also clutching his wand.

“No way, I'm not going near her right now.”

“Just – watch her,” Derek says helplessly, already running back into the house, because he understands. Jackson is probably even less safe out there than they are inside, together.

He feels his strength returning with every step he takes. It's a weird feeling.

Without Lydia's – whatever – to soak in the magic, all of Derek's senses are under an attack when he returns to the bloody room. The weird echoes – no, he hasn't imagined that - and thick, black shadows that are so prominent even in the near complete darkness. And he can hear some sirens, but that's in the distance.

“He's not even cold yet,” Stiles says with an odd glance back. “The blood – Lydia must have come here before he was even dead, he couldn't have bled much on her otherwise, you know? And it's still – it's still not dry, it's still dripping.”

There are spells that can keep blood warm and liquid for a while after death, which useful for all sorts of medical and post mortem analysis so that logic is somewhat flawed. Cora answers before Derek can decide whether to mention this, “Why do you think are there knives in his eyes?”

Derek looks up. She's right, two short daggers are pushed to the hilt into the dead guy's eyes sockets – Merlin, this is beyond disturbing. His arms are sort of twisted, some runes – no, not runes, just some weird symbols are written on the wall. In blood red. It's horrific and somehow – too much. Derek feels a stab of guilt at the thought, but he can't unthink it. It all looks like a tacky window display.

It smells like it should, though. Like murder and danger and like Derek needs to get Stiles and Cora out of here right now. He says, “Guys. There's no one else in the house. Come on, we need to get out.”

Cora twitches like she'd leave right now, but Stiles steps closer to the hearth so she doesn't move away from his side. He crouches. “It's full of dried herbs – or one herb, I don't know. It won't make a difference if I take a smidgen with me, right?”

He doesn't wait for a confirmation before he takes out a paper handkerchief and wraps a little of the dried mixture in it. Then he steps away, pulls Cora behind and takes his telephone out again. The flash goes off – huh, the telephone is also a camera, how handy. Stiles moves around the room, takes photos from different angles. The siren is really close now – and it's coming with the sound of an automobile.

“That's my dad,” Stiles says quietly. “No one says a word about me taking pictures and stuff to him, okay?”

“As long as we leave right now,” Derek agrees.

They exit the house just as the automobile with the siren still blaring comes to a stop.

“Stiles!” Mr. Stilinski runs up to them, meets them halfway down the patio. “I told you not to go in!”

“And if he was still alive? We could have helped him! And I didn't go in alone, see?”

Mr. Stilinski doesn't look convinced, but he does look relieved they're okay. As he rubs his head, trying to decide what to say, a few people – aurors, in their scarlet uniforms – apparate nearby. The man who's come with Mr. Stilinski startles badly, stinks up the air with fear – it just puts another sickening layer of stench over the area. Cora goes to sit next to Lydia, where she probably can't smell any of it.

There's more noise, questions, more and more people come after the aurors confirm it's not a joke. Stiles drags him a little down the street, where his dad's automobile has been left. They sit in the back, huddle close together and with an eye on Cora, Lydia and Jackson, little ways off, and wait for the grownups to finish what they're doing and come to ask them questions.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I work now, and that apparently doesn't mash all that well with fanfiction. Oh, well.


	3. Chapter 3

 

Hogwarts is the same as always. Maybe it's some magical resistance the castle has developed after everything its been through, or it's just that the life is stronger than death.

Well, it's not exactly the same. Friends of the dead kids are grieving the loss, there is a stricter curfew and a much stricter supervision after hours – you can hardly turn a corner without stumbling across a teacher or an auror. But that's good, in general.

Stiles still sleeps more often in Gryffindor than in Ravenclaw, but he can spend the night now in his own bed if he wants to. It hasn't been easy to sneak Derek up with all the extra security. They've been a picture of modesty and friendliness up there – Derek's creepy charm works on these people for some reason. The Ravenclaws leave them alone, but there's still the nagging suspicion that someone there will tall on them. So most of the time, Stiles sleeps in Gryffindor – sometimes with Derek, sometimes in Scott's bed, and sometimes even with Cora.

More often with Scott and Cora than Derek, actually. Derek has an important project he's been working on so often, it's even worse than when he's had detention. They do spend a lot of time in the library together. Stiles has been reading up on sacrificial magic – all he can find, which isn't that much. About the foundation of Hogwarts – he's not sure what's that to do with the murders, but Peter has nudged him unsubtly in that direction, so he's just following it. He has also been reading up on the Argents, on the Martins – yeah, Lydia's family is a wizarding family.

Or it was, until mid-twentieth century when her grandmother came to Hogwarts only to bring down chaos on the school. It was only thanks to the quick thinking of the teacher who was escorting the children across the lake to the castle that she didn't take down all the wards of Hogwarts, only the outer ones. No member of the family is allowed to cross the magical boundaries anywhere in the country, but no one has any idea why. They can't do any magical tests on them. They are actually listed as one of the greater mysteries in the last two hundred years or so.

Anyway, they keep busy. But where Stiles overshares every interesting detail he comes across, Derek is tight-lipped about his own project. He promises Stiles will get to see it as soon as it's done, and he looks so damn excited about it. So it's good.

Being at Hogwarts, ironically, has never been better for Stiles.

On Friday morning. Stiles wakes up to the weight bouncing off the bottom of the mattress.

“Come on,” Cora demands as he fights to open his eyes. “I'm hungry.”

Stiles groans, wants to go back to sleep. He's cold, though, so Derek must already be in the library, but his mind is foggy and lazy, like it always is when he sleeps well.

And Stiles always sleeps the best with Derek. He's naturally a restless sleeper, making noises and kicking his legs and arms around, even when he's home. It's worse when he doesn't feel safe, like it's often the case in Ravenclaw. But Derek is a were-octopus in his sleep, he wraps himself around Stiles like he believes on some level Stiles will disappear if he doesn't – and it sounds uncomfortable. It sounds like a nightmare, really, but that doesn't change the fact that Stiles falls asleep within minutes, warm like that, and doesn't wake up until someone shakes him awake.

“I'm not,” he mutters into the pillow.

“You'll be starving by the time you reach the greenhouse in this wind, you know you will be.” Now that she's mentioned it, it does sound like a windstorm outside. “Come one, I'm not carrying around a sandwich for you again, I smelled like cheese for a week last time.”

“That was the day before yesterday, Cora, it hasn't been a week.”

“And there's still no sign of it going away. Derek's gone already?”

Stiles opens his eyes, closes them again before the assault of white. “Apparently.” He sounds a little bitter, he knows he does. He's still sleep-warm, in Derek's bed, and so he confines to Cora, “I thought sharing a bed with a guy would be more, you know.”

“More sex?”

Stiles makes a face, frowns at her. “That, too.”

She shakes her head, disproving. “You're an idiot. And speaking of you being an idiot, you need to go to Prof. Sinistra and tell her you need permission to leave the school next Tuesday.”

“I do? What for?”

“Thought so,” Cora mutters. She actually sounds angry, so Stiles pushes himself to his elbows to look at her. “You really are an idiot. It's the Hunger Moon next week – you are going home with us, as per the contract you've signed!”

That shakes off all the remaining traces of sleep. Stiles sits up, horrified. “I'm supposed to get something for Derek.”

“Yeah. _I_ remember.”

“Shut up, I've been trying to prove his ex-girlfriend isn't a mass murderer, I've been distracted – you should have warned me before!”

“I don't know why you insist Kate Argent isn't the killer, but that's not gonna cut it as the moon token for Derek.”

“It's not meant as a present – I just want him to stop feeling guilty about it. If she isn't the one, then there was nothing to see and therefore he can stop torturing himself about not seeing it.”

Cora is quiet as Stiles gets up and starts putting his causal clothes on. She's noticed, too. They've both tried to talk to Derek about it, but he wouldn't let them get far. Stiles is convinced that that is the reason he's taken on that project he's working on, to distract himself.

“Traditionally,” Cora offers when he comes back from the bathroom, “Even though the tokens are supposed to show off how much you've developed the connection with your partner, _traditionally_ , you're supposed to take the inspiration from the moon itself. It's the Hunger Moon, so you're supposed to focus on – things Derek hungers for, things he's missing but wants or needs in the next year.”

“That doesn't sound hard at all,” Stiles grumbles. “Has he figured it out yet?”

Cora rolls her eyes dramatically. “Weeks ago, Stiles.”

He groans, feeling guilty, “Oh my God, I am terrible at this!”

“Well, now that I know how easily things slip your mind, I promise to remind you earlier next time. And you have five days left, it's not too late. So come on, think.”

“Do you have any suggestions? Wait, did he ask you for any advice on me? Do you know what he's going to give me?”

“Yes, and no, and yes.”

“Huh?”

“Maybe ask one question at the time if you can't remember the order you ask them in?” Cora suggests with a smirk. “Yes, I do have a suggestion for you. No, he didn't ask me, he asked Peter – luckily, because Peter's idea is _awesome_ in so many ways, I can't even begin to tell you. And yes, obviously, I know what it is, but I won't tell you.”

“I wouldn't ask you to tell me, I just want to make sure mine is just as good. I don't wanna embarrass myself again.”

“Sorry,” Cora says, and it's not sarcasm, she actually looks apologetic. “I'm pretty sure nothing either of us can come up with as going to be as good as his. But, to be fair, you're more obvious and open about the things you need, so... Either way, I think you should take him to that game. You've still got all that money from Peter, right?”

He does have it, because this is what he's been keeping it for. Well, this, and his dad's treats and stuff. It's easy to forget about money at Hogwarts in winter, though, because everything is provided and it's too cold to want to go down to the village. And dad's been getting care packages from Ethan Hale, anyway.

“What game?”

Cora huffs, “The one everyone's been talking about? The charity Quidditch match? They say even Harry Potter is going to be there!”

Harry Potter, Stiles thinks, would better spend his time looking personally into these murders that are still happening around the country. Still, he does recall that he has been hearing about it, from Scott mostly.

“A Quidditch match?”

Cora shrugs. “Well, I know he really wants to go. We were actually planning to go – with Scott – to Hogsmeade to follow the game on the Wireless. But this is better, you should take him to see it, he would have, but his allowance was cut off for months and all the money he's got, he had to invest in...”

She shuts her mouth, which makes it really obvious that he's spent all his money on Stiles.

“Anyway, Nate would probably take us, but Maya is so close now, he doesn't want to leave her side – and I know you don't really like Quidditch, but...”

“No. No, it's a good idea. And maybe I'll like it better once I see professionals play?” She snorts again, but relaxes a little. “How do I get the tickets? How much are they?”

She explains on their way to the Great Hall. There's a place in Hogsmeade – of course there is, they want to be available for the students of Hogwarts. The game will be played in Ireland, but the tickets come with a portkey to the spot and back. They are pretty expensive. Stiles buys four as soon as Cora turns her back, doesn't tell her a thing. It'll be a nice surprise for everyone.

That settled, he goes back to his research. He's going to be so far in front of everyone next year in history, when they start of the medieval period and magic commonly practiced back then, this all will be worth it.

*

 

Stiles gets to see the Hale house first from the inside. It's logical, since the Headmistresses has allowed them to use her fireplace as the safest option, but strange anyway. You get used to getting the first impression from the way the house looks from the outside – how big it is, how well the yard is maintained, and such.

Cora goes first, leads the way. Stiles has only used the floo a few times before and he's still very nervous about it. He goes in second and arrives so nauseated, he has to breathe carefully for a moment so he wouldn't throw up. Cora pulls him out of the way in time to let Derek through behind him.

“Okay?” Derek says with a half-hidden laugh when he takes in Stiles' pale face.

“May puke on you,” Stiles tells him, though honestly, it's already passing.

He looks around. It's a hall of some sort, large. The house has to be large, too, but then, of course, it must be to house so many people. There are toys everywhere, like they've exploded over the place, these colorful, animated, loud things that look old fashioned and sturdy.

“It's the full moon,” Derek says, noticing his amazement. “It's impossible to calm them down, so it's always like this for a few days.”

“My room was always like this, and I don't even have the full moon to blame. My mom....” He catches himself mentioning her, but it doesn't burn quite so painfully, so he continues. “Yeah, she used to say there were days she had to make me pick everything up so many times she'd lose count.”

There's a moment of silence, like Derek and Cora know just how much it means he's talking about his mom like this.

“You're staying with me,” Cora finally says, grabs Stiles' things.

“Uh, okay. Why?” He doesn't want to be rude, but he thought he'd stay with Derek. And if that glare means anything, Derek thought so, too.

“So you two don't sniff each other presents before the moonrise tonight. Come on.”

“You can put his things in your room, that's all,” Derek tells her. His voice is low, even though the door is already swinging shut behind her.

“Is anyone home? Should we go say hi?” Derek looks at him sideways, pleased like a cat, until Stiles' cheeks feel warm and he mutters. “What? You people ruined me forever, I want my hugs now.”

It's true, in a way. He's dreading it a little, because the Hales can smell his emotions and whatnot. But they also give very good hugs and always look so glad to see him, and it's addictive.

“Maya is here, so are Violetta and Peter. And the twins.”

“That must be handy with so many people around,” Stiles hums, following Derek into the next room.

He's been expecting a large house, but this – it's huge. It's a manor. Aside from the toys and a few fresh trails of mud that lead from the window in the wide living room full of chairs and sofas, everything is clean and well kept. Stiles stops to look at the thing every so often when they pass them – there's a row of pictures he can't help but stare at. About a million tiny little Hales wave at him from the frames, like he's the best thing they've ever seen. There's a little Derek in a few of those, hiding his face red as a tomato behind whoever is in the picture with him.

“How does he know to do that? Oh my God, this shouldn't be so adorable.”

Derek looks over his shoulder, snorts.

“I was a little shy.”

“So he does that no matter who's looking at the pictures?” Stiles asks skeptically.

“No. Sometimes, I hide behind mom, but not like this.”

“How does he know, then?”

It's amazing, and incomprehensible. It's a piece of past, how does picture Derek know to hide in front of Stiles? How does Laura know to throw her little brother teasing smirks? _How do they know to wave_?

  
The twins find them before they can find anyone else. They climb on Derek first, then all over Stiles, too. Rub their noses into the crook of his neck, over the bite mark. Collin pulls on his hair hard enough to give him a mild headache as he tries to lower himself down, but then they're done and off again. On all fours, like tiny little Mowglis, only dressed.

Maya and Violetta are having tea in the kitchen. Maya looks tired, but Violetta's eyes are brighter, face healthier than the last time Stiles saw her. It could be the moon, but he's hoping she's just getting better. She holds onto him a little longer than Maya has, hand patting his hair gently. He thinks it could be scent marking, but either way. It's not unpleasant. He can suffer through it.

There's a lot of food scattered around the huge kitchen, fresh or in first phases of preparation.

“Looks like a feast.”

“This? This is only a few traditional dishes, the rest we're buying,” Maya says, “There's no way I can feed a few hundred werewolves, not even with the help.”

“A few... hundreds?”

Cora said there's going to be others, but he's had no idea there even were that many werewolves in the country.

Derek shrugs, mouth full of baked almonds, so Violetta says, “It's our turn this year to host the gathering. There's not much ceremony to it, but running makes werewolves hungry.”

“And all these people will come here, to the house?” The kicker is, they might actually fit inside.

Derek looks horrified at the suggestion, and even Violetta's face twists in distaste. Maya laughs, “No, no. That, apparently, would stink up the house. No, they'll gather outside, little ways north, in the forest. There's a decent spot out there.”

That sounds nice. And a little scary, all these werewolves in one place. Unfortunately, one of Stiles' first thoughts is that if someone pulls off the thing that happened at Hogwarts, poisons the food somehow, it could be a disaster. Two hundreds of feral werewolves is a terrifying prospect.

Not sure how to bring something like that up, Stiles instead offers, “Can I help?”

“Not right now,” Derek cuts in, though Stiles is sure Maya's been about to give him an enthusiastic agreement. “Let's go see Peter, he's in the library, and then I'll show you upstairs.”

Ah. Upstairs. Where Derek's room probably is.

“I'll come back, though,” Stiles promises to Maya, but she waves him off.

“There's time – it's still morning.”

They go to see Peter next.

“Oh God,” Stiles whispers, staring up the tall shelves full of books that look ancient and expensive. There's a lot of light coming in through the yellow-tainted window, which makes the room seem pleasant and comfortable. Their library is magnificent. “Oh my God.”

Derek is snickering next to him, “Contain yourself.”

Stiles points, “That chair looks so snug, I think I wanna stay right here. Just a blanket, that's all I'm asking for, and I'm set, seriously, I...”

“No,” Derek says, but he's openly laughing.

Peter comes out from behind one of the shelves with a small smile. “Though obviously, you're welcome to use the library when you have a need for it.”

Half out of excitement, half because that what he's used to with the Hales, Stiles turns and hugs Peter. Somewhere in the middle of it, he recalls that Peter has never actually hugged him before like the rest, but he still holds on. It takes a second before Peter raises his hand and brushes it over Stiles' shoulder tentatively. It's awkward, but it's a hug, so Stiles pulls back with a grin.

“If anyone's been wondering how badly I wanna see Derek's room, they'll be able to tell now because I will actually turn around and leave this room. Right now.”

“Will you?” Peter asks mildly.

"Yes,” Stiles insists, even as his eyes catch on a thick volume titled, _Wandering Warding,_ which sounds so damn interesting. But he nods, “Yeah, I just – I will... Okay.”

He turns on his heel and leaves the room, and Derek follows him closely, still laughing. “Maybe I should have left that for later?”

“You are mean,” Stiles tells him heatedly. “You totally made me chose between you and the library, and I don't think you want to know how close of a call it was.”

“It's okay,” Derek says lightly, stirring him toward the stairwell. “If you'd chosen the library, I'd just have pinched a tent in there. It comes with a little kitchenette, it wouldn't be so bad.”

There's no one else in the hall with them, so Stiles turns on the first stair and kisses him. It's hard, but brief. “I'm kidding, though. There's no choosing, and if there was...”

“Yeah, yeah,” Derek interrupts, steps even closer. “Though I have to say, I never thought Peter's obsessive collecting of books will be such a huge perk in my courting contract.”

Stiles never thought he'll be spending a bunch of money to go to a quidditch match, but that's exactly what he's doing. Gladly.

On his lower step, Derek doesn't have to bend his head to sneak his noise into Stiles' neck. It falls in there easily, and he inhales a few times, lungful of air and whatever smells he gets off Stiles.

“Come, show me your room.”

Derek pulls away, eyes unfocused for a moment. Then he nods, and leads them up the stairs and down one of the three hallways. His room is cluttered with quidditch equipment and books. The bed is tucked underneath the tall window, thick curtains in dark amber around it. Pillows are piled so you can look outside, at the forest beyond, when you lay down. From one of the inner corners, a branch comes out and stretches across the wall, half inside the wall and half risen above the surface.

“Oak. We've built the house around it,” Derek says. He sounds proud of it, but that doesn't even come close to match the awe and curiosity Stiles is feeling. How does it get enough light to live? How doesn't it collapse the walls? Do they cut the branches when they grow into the rooms? Does it have leaves in the summer?

It feels rough but warm under his fingers, alive. This is a truly magical house.

Stiles turns away from it after a few minutes, makes his way through the room, looks at the book titles, touches some scattered clothes, random items. The eagle is there, near Derek's bed, and it makes him smile.

“You're scenting my room,” Derek says, and Stiles snatches his hands back, alarmed. Derek snorts a laugh, “I don't mind, Stiles. Just, it's a thing you do now. You do it when you come up to Gryffindor, too.”

“Nah. I'm just nosy.”

“Not on purpose, maybe. But you've picked it up from Cora. You go about it the same way she does – a lot of attention to the things above your waistline, only a cursory brush of fingers for things closer to the ground.”

Stiles thinks back a few minutes, looks at the things he picked up and looked closely and things he only touched or brushed aside. Derek is totally right.

“Okay. That's just weird. It doesn't even make any sense.”

“It probably makes sense to Cora. You just picked up a habit from her.” Stiles narrows his eyes at Derek's desk, which was the place he's been planning to go through next, then back at the bed, where Derek is stretched out and watching him. He wants to finish, but... Derek pets a spot on the mattress, smirks, “Come scent my bed.”

So Stiles leaves the desk for later and climbs the mattress, just in time to see Derek make a face, “What?”

“Cora's threatening she'll start learning to play the guitar if we...” he waves his hand a little. His ears are red.

Stiles snorts, tugs him so they're lying on the bed together. “I hear there's a lovely forest, all around your house, wonderful for taking long strolls. That's a hint for you, Cora.”

He doesn't think he could really do anything like that while the entire house can hear them, but teasing Cora is fun. Derek shakes his head with a smile, “She's turned on wireless.”

“Isn't it weird? No privacy at all – oh my God, your parents!”

“What? No, they have sound-muffling wards set around their rooms – we get to put them up when we finish Hogwarts. I might be able to convince them to let me have them after the first year, but until then...”

After the first year of courtship – that's more than eleven months. “Well, my dad doesn't have super hearing and the house is actually often empty – I get the feeling you'll be spending a lot of time this summer visiting me.”

“Okay,” Derek agrees with a dozy smile, puts his knee over Stiles' thighs in his classical, about to sleep manner. “Stay here a bit?”

They nap a little, talk about the upcoming evening more as Derek's bedding absorbs Stiles' scent. It's all sorts of nice. Cora comes by later, joins in the conversation like she's been with them in the room all along, which, aww. It's enough to reign in anyone's libido.

Around noon, Stiles finally remembers the promise to help in the kitchen, so he leaves Derek and Cora to their own devices and goes downstairs. He's never tried to cook without electricity, but they do have running water, which is a relief. And God, but peeling potatoes is so much easier with the spell Violetta teaches him – by the time he's done with the whole two tons they'll apparently need, he's a professional at it, his balance at taking off just the skin and as little actual potato as possible is pretty much perfect.

The house slowly fills with people the later the afternoon becomes. Talia is the first to arrive, appearance ruffled but eyes excited and pleased as she takes in the kitchen. Cora and Derek are even helping, though it's taken them a while to come downstairs, bickering about the upcoming quidditch match all the way through.

Ethan comes home with a small train of treys of pastries following him at shoulder length. Stiles is in the middle of basting half a dozen large ducks in a honey and soy sauce, bent over the huge oven and sweating like crazy.

Peter is keeping the twins busy in the next room, but everyone else is the kitchen by the time it starts getting dark. The moonrise won't be for another few hours. The dinner will happen before that, apparently – there's something about the full moon that has werewolves not fit to sit at the table calmly, so they have dinner first and then they're go meet with the other werewolves in the forest, run around. Stiles helps take out most of the food they've made and bought to put on a long line of transfigured tables on the edge of a clearing, framed with a line of beech trees.

It's not that deep into the forest. You can tell it's old, the woody debris is ankle deep and multi-layered canopies so thick you can only see the sky through occasional gaps where a tree has once been, but it's not like the Forbidden Forest. It's not as musty and claustrophobic, it doesn't feel like a living, breathing thing that's about to grab you with its vines. This is a relief.

Once they're done, all that's left is to set the table back at the house so the Hales can have dinner. There still is _so much food_ left _._ After spending most of the day helping, Stiles isn't surprised, it's just, the sight of it, all spread out on the table in the large dining room, it's impressive. They swear there'd be hardly anything left tomorrow morning. It seems impossible right now.

They settle around the table – even after thinking about it, Stiles doesn't quite get the arrangement. The table is mostly round, but not quite. Talia is sitting at what could pass as the head of the table, next to the part of the root and the trunk of the oak the house was built around. Laura is on her right, Peter on her left – which makes some sense. Laura is the next Alpha, Peter is a confident and adviser of some sort. But after that, Stiles doesn't quite follow. Violetta is sitting next to Laura, and there's only Maya between Peter and Stiles. Both Derek and Cora, and Nate, are as far away as possible from Talia, while the children are sat on the sides.

They first fill the small silver ceremonial goblets with mead – one kind for Maya and Stiles and the children, the other for the adult and semi-adult werewolves. No one mentions is, but it's probably infused with something that's toxic to humans. Cora is making a funny face at it. The drink in Stiles' goblet smells strong and not at all sweet like the names of it suggests. Talia raises her goblet first.

“May Fenrir and his wargs come join us on the run under the full moon tonight.”

Everyone murmurs her invitation back to her, drink up and dig straight into filling their plates, as if starved.

“Um,” Stiles says after he'd made sure there's not more to the ceremony. “That's Fenrir – the wolf who ate a god and his children, who were prophesied to bring forth the apocalypse?”

“A disrespectful term to use to describe an event from an older, more factual religion,” Peter admonishes.

Talia sighs, “ _Peter._ ”

But Stiles is hardly insulted. “Language evolves. When I say the apocalypse - as per the contemporary, widely accepted meaning of that word - I'm saying a disastrous event that would wipe out all or most of the life on the planet. Are those the wargs we just invited to join us tonight?”

“Wouldn't you want to run with such a force?”

“Run _from_ , sure.”

Peter wolfs down a duck leg – really, there's no other way to put it. “The planet is still full of life, the sun and the moon intact. And the wargs are our spiritual ancestors – all that power had to go someplace.”

“Well, Hati is, anyway,” Violetta adds. Her lecturing voice is stricter than Peter's, but also kinder. There's no undercurrent of mockery to it, just authority. “That's why we're always chasing the moon.”

Stiles doesn't know much about Norse mythology, but he will find out all he can just as soon as he gets a chance. His whole outlook on the mythology in general is muddled by the introduction to magic, because if so many things are were never supposed to exist have actually been based on reality, then he can't dismiss anything completely. Even those stories the wizarding world thinks have no basis in reality, well, they have to come from someplace.

And if the ancient Greeks were capable to summon some sorts of otherworldly beings, who says the Norwegians weren't capable of it, too? So maybe all those gods actually come from the same place – whatever that place might be.

It's mind-blowing.

“Stiles? Stiles!”

He blinks the theory away, faced with a table full of amused werewolves waiting for him. “Huh?”

“The moon is rising, moron,” Cora says, and okay, sure, he could have guessed just looking at them – you can see the moon reflect on every werewolf in the room. They are vibrating and sparkling with excitement and barely restrained movement. “It's token time!”

“Who's going first?” Derek asks, looking at Peter.

“It doesn't matter.”

“I'll go – yours is supposed to be epic. We should leave best for last,” Stiles offers. He's really excited suddenly – and nervous. The tickets were expensive, sure, but not very personal. He needs to start working on his next full moon as soon as they go back to Hogwarts.

Derek is smiling so widely, all his teeth are on display. There's a savage edge to it, just a small, extra curve present there in the lines on his face that speaks of hunger and his predatory nature. “Living room?”

Stiles swallows, nods, follows him out.

“Can we come?” Cora is demanding behind them. “Uncle Peter!”

Stiles doesn't hear the response – he doesn't care that much if they're in the room or not, they'll hear every word anyway. But as Derek and Stiles sit on the couch, everyone else sort of stands in the doorway between the two rooms, one head over the other. Only one of the twins – Caleb, Stiles thinks – follows them inside and climbs the headrest using Stiles' hair as leverage. He's careful, as much as a toddler is capable of being, so it doesn't matter.

Stiles opens his wallet, where he's stacked the tickets.

“Um, am I supposed to say something, like, ceremonial, I don't know?”

Derek titles his head, “Peter says no, just explain why that and so on.”

Stiles glances at the door, and yep. Peter is not there. Nor is Talia, or Violetta. They are probably too dignified to butt in or something.

“Okay,” Stiles says, takes out the colorful pieces of thick paper. “It's a bit of a cop-out, I know, but at least I think you'll enjoy it – here. One's for me, these are for you.”

Derek takes the tickets automatically, blinks down at them. Cora obviously hasn't said a thing about it. She's awesome.

“Seriously?” Derek says quietly. Stiles feels his heart sink until Derek looks up – that excited look is back with a vengeance. He looks again at the tickets, back at Stiles - can't seem to decide where he wants to look at more at the moment. “For the charity game next week?”

“What?” Nate yells from the next room.

“Er, I mean, I got one for myself, I'll go with you – but those are so you can take along someone else, too, someone who likes the game and you can, you know, talk to them about the players and tactic...”

Derek spreads the three tickets in his hands, looks at them for a second. He separates one to give back, “Invite Scott to come along with us.”

Reluctantly, Stiles takes it. “You sure? I thought maybe Nate and Cora.”

“Nate can't go. Maya is due soon, he won't be leaving her side. Just, let Scott know it's my idea. I need all the points I can get with that guy.”

It's not that Stiles wasn't looking forward to spending time with Derek and Cora and their brother, but Scott coming along is just perfect for him. Three of his four favorite people with him, he'd have fun in a torture chamber, less alone a sports game.

“Okay, my turn.”

Derek takes out a small box. It's a jewelry box, actually, navy blue and beautiful. Stiles opens it immediately. There a necklace inside – it's fairly simple, a circular silver pendant on a long silver chain. Not that it's not lovely, it's just, the way Cora was telling...

“It's a portkey,” Derek tells him, taking the necklace from Stiles. “Multi-usable. It'll only work for you and it goes in two directions.” Derek pushes the circular pendant, and the inside of it moves to rotate around its axis. When it clicks in place, it looks like a dark blue disk with a silverish round frame. “When you fix it like this, on blue, it'll take you to your father, wherever he is at the moment – you'll have to set dates in advance so you don't end up at his work or on the street. When you move it back,” Derek demonstrates by rotating the pendant to look the way it has, “It'll take you back to me. Even when I'm at Hogwarts.”

Stiles takes the pendant, mind foggy. He recalls some of the papers he's been seeing around Derek lately. “This is your project? This is what you've been working on all these weeks?”

“Peter's idea. So you can...”

“Visit my dad. Oh my God. You've made it so _I can visit my dad_.”

He's not sure if it's appropriate or not, but he might die or cry if he doesn't channel this overwhelming gratefulness somehow, so Stiles grabs Derek by the neck and kisses him squarely on the mouth – the audience be damned. Caleb, who's been supporting himself partially on Stiles' shoulder, slides down into the couch. He tucks his little nose into Stiles' side and stays there, apparently content.

“This – how many times I have?” Stiles asks Derek, absentmindedly caressing Caleb's head.

“Six hundred singular trips – so three hundred visits?”

“Oh my God, I can see my dad every weekend. Cora was completely right, this is epic, this is amazing. I can't... I just can't...”

He waves his hands around. Nothing that's coming out of his mouth sounds sufficiently grateful.

“I know,” Derek says with a smile, but it's tamer now, just happy. He leans in just a little closer, inhales demonstratively. “I can smell it.”

“Well, that went well,” Talia says. She's come into the room first, everyone else following after her and whispering. “Congratulations.”

She's smiling as she hugs and kisses them both, but her eyes are intense, vivid. The moon has probably risen completely by now. Everyone follows her lead with the hugs and congratulations.

“I'm calling dibs on Peter's advice next month,” Stiles calls happily.

“If that means Derek is stuck with me, you might end up with a racing broom,” Cora warns him, but it'd be so worth it.

They're grinning at each other when Malia walks around Nate to approach. The expression she's wearing is sullen, and Stiles thinks someone must have put her up to this. It makes him uncomfortable – she doesn't like him, okay. It's kinda hurtful, but he'd rather no one forces them to interact. He offers her a tentative smile – and she returns it. It's kinda shy, or anxious, but still sharp and it makes it clear as day she'll be quite pretty in a few years.

Malia doesn't say anything, doesn't look at Derek at all. She does step close to Stiles, quick as lightning and puts her arms around him. The strength she hides in her slim arms surprises him, and he's trying to wiggle out enough to breathe more easily. There are going to be bruises where she's digging her fingers into his shoulder blades. But he only manages to open his mouth to say something about it, ask her to ease it up, when shocked gasps and yells of “Malia!” rise around them.

Malia's hands start to slip off, loose. Stiles takes in a greedy breath as he watches Derek, face blank except where he's tightening his lips, grabs Malia under the arms, carries her the few long steps across the room. He opens the window and throws her out into the darkness and snow with such force, Stiles can't even see where she's landed. Derek closes the window behind her with a bang, turns around with a big frown.

“Derek,” Talia says disapprovingly, with a sigh.

Cora and Laura jump on the couch, almost on top of Stiles. Laura rubs his back over the ghost imprints of Malia's hands, and Cora is touching his cheek where Malia's head was brushing against. Stiles is starting to think that they aren't reacting to the disproportional and carelessly used strength.

“What did she do to me?”

“Shh,” Laura says, but that just makes it sound like she's trying to calm him down because something terrible has happened.

“I'll find her,” Peter says somewhere in the background. Well, at least he doesn't sound angry.

“She scent-marked you,” Cora tells him finally, God bless her, because Stiles has been starting to panic a little.

But that doesn't really explain it. “You do it all the time. I don't get it.”

“The intention _matters_ , Stiles. She was leaking her hormones all over you.”

Stiles sniffs his clothes, which smells just like always to him. But he doesn't like the idea of it one bit, especially because it's done maliciously, to ruin the moment. “What hormones? She's ten.”

Probably she's an early bloomer, or else it's a werewolf thing. Stiles wants to know, but Talia claps her hands, orders, “Come on, go upstairs, get ready. We're heading out in ten minutes.”

Everyone scatters. Derek grimaces in his direction, sort of apologetic, but he doesn't try to cover Malia's scent with his own. Stiles remains in the living room with Talia. Malia is just trying to get attention, he thinks. She's probably feeling overlooked, with her mother sick and father busy – he remembers Derek and Cora mentioning Peter being distant. He feels almost sorry for the girl – he'll probably feel sorrier once his shoulder blades stop aching.

To distract himself, Stiles ends up looking over the pendant he's now wearing around his neck. The chain that it's on has already intertwined with the string of his quidditch whistle.

After a few minutes of letting him to his thoughts, Talia asks, “Stiles? Is everything alright?”

Stupid werewolves and their mood reading superpowers.

He swallows. “Yeah. It's just, after this, the tickets just seem so... trivial.”

She points at the sealing, “Do you hear that?”

Not sure if she's serious, he scratches his neck, listens for whatever she wants him to hear. “No?”

“Nate is offering Derek and Cora his omnioculars so they could record the game from the stands. All three of them are very excited about it and they're laughing. It doesn't sound trivial in the slightest to me, and I _despise quidditch_.”

That makes Stiles smile, but he's groaning on it. “God, I know. Why do the posts have to be so high up in the air? Are they trying to make sure someone gets hurt during every single game?”

“And what's with that snitch? I've always said, the game should be split into two separate games, Catch the Snitch, and Score if You Can. It feels like such a waste of great effort when up to fifteen hard-earned goals are rendered completely irrelevant by one little winged ball.”

Stiles stares at her in awe and admiration, because _that's_ _exactly it_. Also, he's never seen her so passionate. She must be a force of nature in court.

Talia grins, easily. “You should come out with us. There's a ritual we're performing every Hunger Moon, I think you'd love to see it.”

“Uh, I don't think I'll be able to keep up with you.”

She curves her lips in a mild smirk. “We'll keep up with you.”

“Okay.”

He's actually a little tired, it's already been a long day, but he is too curious to say no. It sounds exciting.

Everyone comes back down in old, ratty clothes. Excitement is high in the air, conversation a pleasant vibration that's filling the house with a sort of discordant music. Violetta stays behind with Maya, just in case. Her eyes are still bright with the call of the moon, but her hands are shaky and coordination has started to be a difficulty long before the night even fell. No one points out that, but no one is surprised she's not coming along. At least Maya and her will keep each other company.

Stiles doesn't run. He wouldn't be able to if he wanted – even with the moon sighing brightly, large on the sky, it's too dark under the canopies. He's walking carefully among the trees, while the werewolves – all partially or completely shifted – run back to brush against him and direct him to the right path. Derek comes more than once, shy at first with his transformed face, but bolder when Stiles doesn't react badly. He presses himself close, hands restless and curious, and nosing at Stiles' neck so vigorously, there's no way any trace of Malia is left when he's done. But Derek is too full of energy, vibrating with the call and his pack, so he doesn't walk with Stiles. He runs back and forth as they advance. Stiles can see them through the trees sometimes, when they ran back so they wouldn't leave him behind, playing around like puppies, loud and lighthearted.

Only one small figure remains firmly on his side all the way through - Caleb. He runs around a little, in a circle around Stiles, comes back to climb him and be carried for a bit. He's gurgling, and demanding “Faster!” and laughs like life is just the most wonderful thing when Stiles listens and quickens his step. The kid's getting pretty attached. It's awesome.

When he finally reaches a clearing, the werewolves are waiting. Derek and Nate are – wrestling, or something. Laura is throwing Collin off across the clearing, and he keeps charging back at her and laughs shrill and loud when she sends him flying. The adults are in the middle of the clearing and Stiles heads there, curious about what they're doing.

“Know any cleaning charms?” Ethan asks him, teeth garbling the words. “We don't really take our wands with us – it's easy to miscalculate spells under the circumstances.”

They are trying to clean out an engraved panel of some sort. Stiles speeds it up. His cleaning charm comes out stronger than ever before – it's like it's being out there in the forest, under the moonlight, with the pack, is making his magic stronger. It's a large surface they uncover, and he has to cast a lumos to see. There is a complicated knot engraved deeply into the stone.

Peter comes to stand next to him. “It's a ritual, for strengthening pack bonds and protection. We're calling upon the bonds and the pack manifests as a singular entity for a few minutes. It makes us stronger, and it makes our wards and our protective instincts stronger. You can stand in the circle with us, if you want.”

“Stand between Derek and Cora,” Talia tells him.

“Because, pack bonds,” Stiles nods. “Thanks for including me.”

Peter pushes him toward the edge of the engraving. Cora comes first, presses her shoulder into his so hard he stumbles sideways – Derek steadies him with a huge grin on the other side. Everyone else stands to form a circle. The ritual doesn't have any chanting and it doesn't require any tools. As soon as the last person stands with them - Laura, after settling the twins – the magic tightens around them so suddenly, it makes Stiles rise with it to his toes. Like he's about to take off the ground.

Thin, bright lights start to bleed out of them like ropes. Stiles watches a gentle pink light come out of his chest and connect him to Cora. He reaches to touch it – it vibrates softly, makes his mouth taste like something fresh and sweet, like a bowlful of some red fruit on a picnic.

Another string of light, deep green, goes to Derek. Stiles tries to touch that one, too. The vibrations are stronger. His nose fills with all these smells he can't sort or define, all pleasant and oddly familiar. Stiles thinks he might be sensing the way Derek feels his pack around him, tries to decide which smell might belong to him... When another string distracts him.

This one is pale blue, almost gray. Stiles follows it and isn't surprised when he finds Peter on the other end of it. Peter offers him a rare smile, touches the string before Stiles can. Stiles' vision sharpens for a moment, like it's close to sunrise. Shadows aren't quite as deep and he can clearly see every face in the clearing – Talia's frown of concentration, Ethan's grin at his grandchildren. Malia's sulky glare, directed at his father.

His vision dims again when the string stops vibrating where Peter disrupted it, but it's still much brighter than it's been. As the strings grow and reach across the circle, connecting them all together in different colors and sizes - some brighter and thicker than the others - the whole clearing brightens with the magic of the ritual.

No one says a word as the light swells in the middle between them. It looks like a ball of yarn made up of many differently colored threads. It swirls in place and becomes bigger and bigger until it shifts, opens, and a wolf-shaped head grows out of it like it's breaking out from a prison.

The threads twist and pull until the rest of the wolf is clear in shape. It's huge, breathtakingly beautiful, and it tips its heads backward to look up at the moon. The sound that comes out – a melody made up of howls and laughter – it's like Stiles makes it himself. It's clear in his head and tight in his throat and it reaches the moon.

“Now we meet up with the others,” Derek says, leaning close. He's smiling, and Stiles thinks that now, he could run with them. There's a low murmur of confusion that snaps him out of staring at Derek's illuminated face. Derek says, “It's not going away.”

“Why?”

But Derek just shrugs, looks back at the wolf in the middle of the knot. Stiles follows his lead – and finds the thing, the manifestation, staring right back at him. The eyes glow a light orange, gentle and kind.

Stiles is stumbling forward, and he doesn't even realize he's moving until he feels two hands on his forearms, holding him back. He turns his head to look to both sides, blinks at Cora and Derek's restraining hands and whines in a barely comprehended distress, “But she's calling me!”

He's starting to fight, like he's got an actual chance to win against two werewolves, when Peter says, “Let him go.”

Stiles has put so much force into breaking off their hold that he stumbles forward and almost falls when Derek and Cora let go. He catches their worried faces in peripheral vision. It's not the time to reassure them now, no matter how much he wishes to. Stiles looks back up into the warm orange of the manifestation's eyes, and yes, she's still waiting for him to come to her.

Once there, Stiles raises his hand haltingly to touch her muzzle. The vibrations of the pack thrum in his chest ( _Nate's long sleepless nights and the ever progressing dread and vivid memories of Violetta's miscarriages, oh God, how afraid he is for his wife and his children born and unborn_ ). Stiles waits a long moment, but nothing happens. An energy seeps into him like he's a glass that's filling with liquid, all warmth and comfort and mirth. Once he's grinning with it all, the manifestation starts to dissolve under his hand, quick. The colors shrink back to gray and Stiles is standing alone, in the middle of the pack.

They're all staring at him, mostly curious. He scratches the back of his neck, that little spot that always aches when he's feeling embarrassed. “She wanted to meet me? I guess.”

It breaks the tension, if nothing else. Peter moves first. “ _She_ is a manifestation of the pack, Stiles. She's met you, because we all have. You sure you didn't just want to pet the pretty lights?”

He kind of has wanted to pet the pretty lights, too. But he says with dignity, “I'm not six.”

Talia snorts, clearly not believing him. No one is really upset he touched their wolf, though, and she says, “Come on, let's go back.”

The kicker is, most of the food they've spent so much time making and dragging to the clearing is already gone. There are people there, werewolves, some of them shifted. Not two hundred of them, but according to the echoing howls, they are nearby. Talia instructs the twins not to leave Stiles' sight with red eyes and in the tone of voice he's never heard from her before. Then the Hales join the – whatever it is. The run. The chase.

There are fires lit, and there's food left – the moon's been up for a while and no one seems feral, so Stiles sits close to one of the fire pits with a hastily made huge sandwich and watches the twins as they become engrossed in a complicated variation of tag game.

Firelight cuts through the foggy night with a cheerful, magical opposition; the only traces of color and life in the endless greyness of the forest. They make shadows dance in unpredictable patterns, slide unsteadily across the branches wrestling for space high above the ground. The spot is like home base for the werewolves so sooner or later all of them come back to it. Stiles gets to meet some nice people, and also have a chat with Erica when she comes to sit with him for a bit.

The trip back to the house takes less time than it's taken them to get out there. The weariness and dull muscle ache that almost had Stiles refuse to come along into the forest with the pack is gone without a trace – now he'd like to skip around like a child, peek beyond the wall of darkness, where his spell can't penetrate. The werewolves, on the other hand, walk fully human - with eyes heavy and feet catching onto half-frozen leaf mold. The moon has set, and with that all their energy evaporated. Caleb has fallen asleep, wrapped around Stiles' neck. He's as easy to carry as a fancy scarf, like he weighs nothing, and he's warm.

Derek is also keeping close now. They're leading the way, Derek steering them in the right direction, even as he barely keeps up with Stiles' pace.

“Sorry I touched your pack manifestation earlier,” Stiles offers once they're way ahead. The rest can probably still hear them if they want, but at least there's an illusion of privacy when they're out of sight.

Derek says around a huge yawn, “It looped back.”

“What?”

“Like when you touch a raw pack bond? You get feedback, you noticed?” Stiles nods. “We all got a good feeling of you when you petted the thing.”

“And?”

Derek turns his bright, sleepy eyes to frown at him, “And what?”

“Well, how was it? What did you see? Was it,” _bad?_ “embarrassing?”

“Of course not. It was just you.”

That doesn't mean anything, but Derek looks half asleep. Stiles decides he can grill him about it tomorrow.

When they reach the house, it doesn't feel like they've been out for most of the night, not to Stiles. The pack is wiped. They start falling to sleep wordlessly, in their clothes, all over the place. Laura just lets herself fall on the couch in the living room. Talia frowns at her, but even she can't seem to find enough energy to scold her daughter.

Stiles stops halfway up the stairs to pick up the other twin, who's apparently decided to give up then and there. Realistically, the two of them are quite heavy, but Stiles carries them upstairs easily as Derek drags himself after them.

Stiles bring them to their room, but Collin buries his head into Stiles' shoulder and refuses to budge.

“No? Want me to take you to your mom and dad?” The kid shakes his head, face still hidden. “Fine, then. We'll take up Derek's room. If you change your mind, you're walking there, though. Okay?”

Collin nods quickly. Stiles takes them to Derek's room, who isn't surprised at all to see them. Of course, he's heard Stiles. There's plenty space on the bed. Collin lets himself be moved onto it, so that Stiles' hands are free to put Caleb under the covers, too. He gets in after them. Derek, on the other side of the twins, against the wall, is awake just long enough to reach out and put his arm around all of them, fingers brushing Stiles' waist, before he's asleep.

Stiles can't sleep, through. The sunrise is still hours away, and he should be tired after the long and exciting day, but he's too restless, too wired. When it becomes a torture not to move too much and disturb everyone, he gets up. The house is silent, most doors are open but the darkness is too thick to see too far inside.

There's a light in the kitchen downstairs. Maya is reading at the table, a glass of milk in front of her.

“Can't sleep?” she asks quietly.

“You, too?”

She points at herself. “Had a nap earlier.” Then she points at her stomach. “Fidgety as hell tonight.”

“I feel like I could run ten miles without a break,” Stiles admits. He doesn't remember ever feeling this energized, like the high energy of the whole pack has passed into him.

Maya's eyebrows reach her bangs, but she doesn't comment on the oddity of it. “You know how to knead dough?”

“Um, no?”

“Well, do you want to learn? We could have fresh bread for breakfast. Some scones, too. Mini mince pies? God, I want those. It'd be a shame for all that energy to go to waste.”

Open mouthed, Stiles stares at her. “You're _evil_.”

She leans forward, the expression _so_ serious. “Makes me mini mince pies, Stiles. I'm _craving_ them.”

He throws his hands in the air. “Fine. Teach me.”

Despite her attitude, she doesn't just give him instructions. They work together. Stiles tells her about the protection spell and how the manifestation called on him. She tells him she knows. Just because she couldn't go out with them it doesn't mean he wasn't connected. She felt him when he touched the wolf just as clearly as everyone else there. She doesn't offer her thoughts on whatever insight that may have given her on his character.

“It might mean trouble is on its way,” Maya says. “There's a clairvoyant element to that ritual. But I don't see what help it could be, just calling on you. Maybe we'll be able to see clearly if there are side effects on you tomorrow, something to give us a clue on what's going to happen.”

But their minds are restless as they wait for the dough to rise, so she asks questions about his experience anyway and tells him about the time she went out with the pack the first time.

“We've got fresh leeks in the garden. Do you know what they look like?” Maya asks when they're about to start to make the filling for the pies.

“I think so – where is the garden?”

She explains. It's just to the side of the house. Stiles leaves, pretty sure he'll recognize the leeks, wand in his hand for summoning the light. The dawn is nearing, everything is just a shade lighter as he comes out of the house. The air is sharp with cold, painful in his nose when he inhales it. His jacket is upstairs in Cora's room still, so Stiles jogs down to the patio and over the lawn around the house to warm up.

Recognizing the leeks isn't hard at all because all the other winter vegetables they have look so vastly different. Stiles gets between the rows of it, where the air is warded in warmer so the plants wouldn't freeze. The ground is hard under his fingers. He breaks more leeks than he manages to get out whole, and he's out there so long even the warmer atmosphere is getting too cold for him.

He doesn't hear steps approach, just a voice. It's quiet, but firm, all wrapped in a pretty yellowish light.

It's weird. Stiles knows it's Kate, he recognizes her voice. He doesn't like one bit that she's there. But he wants, he really wants to do exactly what she wants him to anyway, so he does. She wants him to go back inside the house. He turns, hands empty, and walks back toward the front door. Kate follows him closely.

Maya doesn't even turn to face him when he walks into the kitchen, leaned over a pot, hair up in a tight bun that leaves her beautiful face partly visible even from the bad angle. Stiles watches as Kate points her wand at Maya, watches as the spell flies across the kitchen and catches, he watches as Maya's eyes fog over. The pot lays forgotten on the top of the stove, the delicious smell of browning meat spreading through the kitchen from it.

“Stiles,” Kate says mildly, holding out a small bottle of brightly colored liquid. “Spray this on the curtains in every room downstairs, then set them on fire. Start here.”

“Wolfsbane solution,” Maya whispers.

Kate frowns at her, snaps, “You, quiet. Follow me.”

They leave, and Stiles opens the bottle. He hates the way it smells, sweet and floral. He thinks about the people in the house and the house itself, going up in flames. But he doesn't feel anything, only the need to do as Kate said. He sprays the liquid – the wolfsbane solution – on the cheerful honey-yellow curtains and uses his wand to set it on fire. It catches and spreads before he's out to do the same in the next room.

The living room is empty, Laura has gone to bed after all. Stiles frowns at the couch for a moment, then sprays the liquid on the curtain as instructed.

The library doesn't have a curtain. Stiles just stands there, lost, as the crackling sounds of flame rise behind him, until he sees a robe hanged on the edge of the far shelf, partially covering the tall window there. It's close enough, a voice inside him urges, so he sprays the jacket and sets it on fire. The books in the shelf catch it almost instantly, spread so quickly he barely gets out of the library in time.

He only has one room left when he finds Caleb, curled in a ball near the stairwell. The kid raises his head to look up at him through the smoke, murmurs something. His eyes are heavy, and they close again, even as he coughs weakly. But Stiles has another curtain to set on fire, so he leaves Caleb there, his face so wet he has difficulty finding the doorknob.

When he's done, the entire floor is on fire. There's nothing to do, only follow Kate's will. Stiles sets to follow the source of it. He stumbles through the flames outside, comes on the other side mostly unhurt. Kate and Maya are right in front of the house.

“No, no, no, no...” Maya is saying, eyes still glassy but hands moving as if to reach the people inside.

“Shut up,” Kate orders ineffectively, but she doesn't look all that upset. “They won't hear you, anyway. That wolfsbane strain will keep them relaxed and sleepy. I took all precautions.”

The house is bright with the light of the fire. It looks a little like a huge Halloween pumpkin.

Maya whines in her throat, and Kate sighs, “Well, I guess it's your turn. I don't like I have to do this part, just so you know. You're human, no matter how misguided. But I can't afford any witnesses. Go inside the house now, sit on the floor and wait there.”

Stiles moves first. Maya steps forward, then jerks back. She's fighting desperately. Kate pushes her so hard along, she stumbles into Stiles. He grabs her, all muscle memory and no intention to it at all. His hands close around her bared forearms, and that feeling of pack Stiles knows from when he's touched the manifestation of it flares to life between them like they've summoned it by touching.

Horror explodes in his chest as the understanding hits him. He's set the Hale house on fire.

Maya's eyes are wide open, completely clear. They are staring at each other, frozen in panic. When Kate steps closer, grabs Maya's shoulder to push her again, Maya throws herself sideways as hard as she can. Kate yelps in surprise, but reacts quickly and gracefully, like a snake. Maya falls to the ground, on her stomach.

Stiles is free of the spell now, too, and Kate makes a grave mistake of not checking on him. She's got her wand in her hand, but she uses her foot to kick Maya on the ground, solid and vicious, turned completely away from Stiles.

So it's easy. It's the easiest thing to disarm her, follow that spell with a binding charm. Kate is laying on the ground next to Maya and glaring up at him in a second. Mind a storm of guilt and desperate half-formed plans, Stiles breaks her wand in half. Maya is already trying to get up, but she can't, so she's crawling toward the house, holding her stomach.

The house is brighter still in the half-light of dawn. It's being consumed by fire and not a single scream comes from it. All the Hales are sleeping, lulled in by the sweet, deadly wolfsbane.

Derek is in there, Stiles thinks urgently. And then he knows what he needs to do, because _Derek is in there_. And Derek has given Stiles the way to always be able to get to him.

He yanks the necklace around his neck free, sets it on silver without a moment of hesitation. Magic yanks at him like a giant hook, everything is darkness and pain until he's opening eyes, on his knees next to Derek's bed. Derek is sleeping, Collin still curled with him.

“Derek!” Stiles yells. “Derek, get up!”

Derek opens his eyes, just for a second, but he doesn't seem capable of keeping them open. Stiles yanks the other string around his neck free, blows the quidditch whistle as hard as he can. The sound of it is so loud inside the house, both Derek and Collin open their eyes full of pain and Derek pushes himself to his elbow, confused.

“The house is on fire!” Stiles yells. “Get up! Derek, _get up_!”

His panic and desperation cut a little through the fog of Derek's mind. He's pushing himself from the bed, grabbing Collin on his way, so Stiles runs out in the hallway. He blows the whistle a few more times as he makes his way toward the staircase. The Hales are waking up, making noises of panic and doors opening. Stiles doesn't stop to check on them.

It's still too late. Flames lick the walls at the bottom of the stairs, there's a wall of fire so hot he feels it on his skin all the way up. He can't go down there. He can't, and when he looks back, the Hales are evacuating through a hallway window.

“Maya!” Nate is yelling. “Where is she? Has anyone seen her? Are the kids with her?”

Talia is pushing Cora and Laura toward the window. Peter is grabbing Malia. A hand falls on Stiles' shoulder and he blurts, sobbing, “Caleb is downstairs!”

“What!” Nate says somewhere behind him, but Violetta, who's been the one to touch Stiles, looks over his shoulder down the stairs and nods.

It's a weird response, Stiles things stupidly, and doesn't catch up until Peter yells, “No!” It's too late by then. Violetta doesn't need more than a second to descend the stairs and disappear beyond the flames. When Stiles looks away from the place he saw her last, Talia and Peter are trying to keep half shifted Nate from following after her.

“Collin is with Derek,” Stiles yells at him, trying to distract him somehow, because he'll manage to push through if he keeps it up. “Maya is outside!”

Nate does strop fighting, just for a moment. But then Caleb starts wailing downstairs, shrill and terrified. Talia grabs onto her son tighter, and so does Peter. There's no one left in the hallway – no one else probably even heard that the kid is downstairs in their panic - so Stiles takes a few steps down. The heat is painful on his skin, but he ignores it easily as Caleb's voice grows even stronger.

“Stiles, come back here!” Peter yells at him. He can't, though. This is his fault. He's done this.

He takes another step, flames now licking the wall next to his shoulder. Before he can take another one, something comes flying at him. He closes his hands around it before he realizes it's Caleb, clothes on fire. But he recognizes it for what it is in time not to drop the kid even as his hands are getting burned.

He only manages to turn on his own, by then the Hales are already on him. Nate grabs crying Caleb, Peter is helping him put out the fire on the kid as Talia practically carries Stiles up the stairs.

There's so much smoke. There's been smoke before, there must have been with all that fire, but Stiles hasn't been aware of it until this moment. He hasn't been aware of all the coughing, his and others', either. But his lungs are stinging something vicious as he moves clumsily toward the window that's been left open.

Peter's head snaps up on a distant noise Stiles doesn't recognize. Talia lets out a pained gasp a moment later and everyone go still right there, in the smoke-filled hallway of the burning house. And Stiles feels it, too, like a fall, like a void where something vital should be, like a tear on his very soul, and he knows.

Violetta's dead.

Peter doesn't show another reaction. He doesn't even blink as he presses into Stiles' shoulder to make him move again. There's nothing else to do, so they get out the window one by one. Talia and Stiles are the last ones. She takes him like he's a rag doll and jumps down, a good distance away from the walls that are starting to give way to the fire.

It's a whole different hell out there. Laura is holding a trashing Derek under her, both are shifted. Ethan is holding Maya up, while Cora is holding Collin in her hands. And Kate, God. Kate is cackling. Her laughter doesn't sound happy at all, but it's still ringing over the sounds of the burning fire.

Peter walks past Stiles, quick but not running. He walks around Laura and Derek snarling, grabs Kate so she's upward, and rips her throat out. He doesn't even bother to shift anything but his right hand to do it. She drops back on the ground, dead. Everything is eerily quiet in the wake of her manic laughter. The only sounds are the sounds of the house burning behind them.

And in that silence, Stiles says, horrified all over again, “I did this. I set the fire.”

Derek stops struggling. They all look at him. Maya says, clearly, “Imperious. We – she had us both...”

They both were under Kate's control, but only he sprayed the potion, lifted his wand to conjure fire while Maya struggled against the spell's binding every step of the way. But whatever pit his words have dug up, it snaps back in place with hers.

Peter says, “Where is my daughter?”

“She ran off into the forest,” Laura tells him. “I thought she – I was trying to keep Derek from killing Kate.”

“Why? It was his duty,” Peter snarls at her. Laura flinches, then bares her teeth.

“Peter,” Talia says tiredly.

Peter is still staring at his niece, just at her. “This is all his fault – you should have let him do something about it.”

Derek lets out a sound like he got stabbed in his chest, still on the ground where Laura has left him. Stiles walks around Peter, just to stand a little closer to him.

“We should call the aurors, right?” he says, his voice breaking and throat painful with them. “And someone should track down Malia?”

“And I think I need to go to St. Mungo's,” Maya adds.

That snaps everyone into action. Peter leaves in the direction Laura points out Malia has taken. Talia summons the Knight Bus for Maya, because it's the safest traveling option with unavailable fireplace and everyone so upset.

“I'll go to the Ministry,” Talia decides. “Ethan – go with Nate and Maya. You kids...”

She looks so lost for a moment. What is she supposed to say here? Stay here and watch your house burn all the way down? Where are they supposed to go?

“We could go to my house,” Stiles offers, small. He wants to go home, selfishly. Cruelly, maybe. He wants his dad.

“Okay,” Talia nods. “Okay. Take the kids with you, Laura. Stay put – someone will come with news, as soon as we have any.”

They all board the Knight Bus. The conductor doesn't even try to sell them tickets. All the passengers stare through the windows at the burning house, now up to the roof in flames.

Stiles sits down next to Derek on the seat. He wraps his hand around Derek's, even though his palm hurts so much where he got burned. But Derek's fingers stay loose as he stares silently straight ahead.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is very, very unedited. My new job? 90% typing. I'm not kidding. My fingers literally hurt by the time I get some free time, and I can barely make myself open a document. I'm supposed to get more responsibility soon (I hope) and while it means more work, it's a looot less typing. 
> 
> So this is me officially apologizing for taking a lot longer than I promised I would. I'm really sorry, guys. But I will make it, okay?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very much NOT proof-read. Yet, hopefully. Still, you're warned so don't complain later, okay?

It's late afternoon, and Derek is still running.

He isn't sure he's running in the right direction. All he can smell is smoke. It's been two days, and still, he can only smell smoke. If Peter and Malia _are_ out here in the woods, Derek won't be the one to find them. He's not even sure he remembers their scents any longer.

 _“The plan?”_ Kate's voice echoes inside his head, again. _“No, Derek, this wasn't the plan. The plan was you._ Just _you. You were supposed to form a bond with me, something I could use against you. To break you – to hurt your mother. You were far too clever to let me, weren't you? So this, right now? This is your fault.”_

He speeds up in an attempt to shake off her voice. It doesn't quite work – he's sure it never will.

 _“So why kill those children?”_ Laura demands in his memory.

And Kate screams, _“I haven't done that! Why would I? How? I taught those kids, I would never do that to them! And I would never drug werewolves feral at Hogwarts and let them loose on hundreds of my students! I wanted you away from the children, not mauling them!”_

But she put Maya and Stiles under the Imperio, had Stiles set fire to the house with children inside. She _was_ capable of killing kids. Werewolf kids, anyway.

She was too upset for her heart rate to be of any use in revealing a lie, but Derek still believed her. She wanted revenge for her father. She used him, with the intention of breaking him. She wanted Talia to suffer through her son.

Peter and Stiles were right. It was someone else who killed those kids. Not Kate.

Peter's been looking into it, he might have some ideas of who it actually was. He's gone, though. He left to get Malia, who ran off scared into the woods. He's never come back. And neither has Malia. Someone's been out here, looking for them, since yesterday. It's mostly been Derek. It's so much easier to run than look his mother and everyone else in the eye.

Aside from Maya and Nate, who are in St. Mungo, everyone else is staying at Stiles' house. It's too small for them, but they've all been sleeping practically on top of one another since the fire anyway, so it's not really an issue.

Derek catches a whiff of something that's not smoke, changes direction.

Stiles hasn't slept in days. He refuses to take comfort in the group grieving of the pack. He takes some pills and remains awake on purpose, pouring through the few books he has in search of everything about the spell Kate put him under. Scott has been by, but have remained out of the pack's way. So were Laura's and Nate's friends, mom's coworkers. But Scott has been the most helpful because his mother actually took days off work to cook and send over enough food to keep even a pack of werewolves fed for a few days. She made Mr. Stilinski drive all that food across the country in a borrowed large motor vehicle. It's something Muggles do, apparently. Mom's certainly grateful she doesn't have to worry about that as well at the moment.

Grief can be eased by the pack sharing and warm sympathy. Guilt, however...

Stiles thinks it's his fault. That's why he won't sleep. Like he was somehow supposed to fight off the curse. Like it's not a miracle the aurors are still trying to piece together that Maya and he managed to break out of it at all. Mom says it's because the baby is fully formed, it's already got a developed magical core. The curse worked like most charms do in the late stages of pregnancy because of it – they slip off more quickly. That allowed Maya to fight. And the rest... While humans are considered equal members of the pack and some can benefit from it, it's unheard of that two humans call on the pooled strength of their pack like that. That was probably because Maya is carrying a werewolf. Or maybe the protection spell they did on the full moon worked the magic through Stiles. It would explain why he's reacted so strangely to the manifestation of the pack during the casting of it.

Derek slows down. His nose is still full of smoke, but the scent he’s caught is familiar. He follows it to the entrance of a shallow cave, hidden behind an old rotting tree trunk. He bends to peer inside, and sure enough, Malia is curled on her side, dirty and fast asleep. The place reeks of slowly rotting flesh – the pieces she couldn't get out off the fur she's using to cover herself – and the skulk of foxes that used to live here not that long ago.

Peter is not here with her and there’s no sign he’s been anywhere near, but still. This is the best thing that's happened in the last few days.

“Malia,” Derek calls. He keeps his voice calm and firm, but she flinches awake like wounded, scoots to the far end of her little hiding place. “It's okay, it's just me. Come out.”

Malia growls, teeth uncovered and long, twists her head and... she's gone feral. Derek tries to coax her to come out, to come near. He talks to her for a while, as low and soothing as he can make it. She only responds with warning growls and snarls when he tries to come inside the cave, like she's defending her home. She's not hurt, so Derek wards her up inside and apparates to the orchard behind the Stilinski house.

Mom's not there, though. Neither is dad. They spend a lot of their time at the hospital with Nate and Maya when they are not out trying to buy all the necessities everyone need. The Healers are keeping a close eye on her for a few days, they're afraid she might lose the baby. She almost did that night, but she was taken to hospital in time.

In the living room, Stiles is sitting on the floor with the twins and is talking them through some sort of game that is supposed to teach children about all the animals and what they sound like. Cora's clattering about in the kitchen.

“Found her!” Derek yells, mostly for Laura's benefit. She descends the stairs like she's just been waiting to hear the words.

“Where is she?”

“In a little cave in the woods – she's gone feral, Laura, I couldn't get to her.”

Laura sighs. She looks ill, in the way humans do – her eyes are shadowed and sunken, face pale. Her hair is wet, as she just got out of the shower, so she casts a spell to dry it off.

“Okay, take me to her. I'll try. If not, we’ll grab her.”

Cora offers a tentative smile from the doorway when Derek glances at her.

“What are we gonna do with her?” Stiles asks, not looking away from the board. “Take her to the hospital?”

Laura opens her mouth, licks her lips. “No – not at first, only if she doesn't respond for a few days. I think. We'll need someplace to keep her, though. Away from the kids?”

Stiles rubs his forehead. “Basement? It's mostly empty, but we can take out the little that's there, ward the windows.”

“That – yeah, sounds good. Thanks, Stiles,” Laura says.

He shrugs his shoulder with the look they all know by now means _it's the least I can do after I set your house on fire._ Laura looks like she wants to shake him for a moment, but then she shakes herself instead and leads the way outside.

She hisses as they walk out through the gate, “You need to talk to him. He hasn't slept a wink since the fire, Derek.”

“I know, and _I've tried_. He nods along and looks right through me. I don't know what to do.” He won't even look Derek in the eye.

Laura deflects. “Yeah, he does the same with me and Cora. I wish Peter was here.”

Everyone wishes Peter was here. They've only noticed how much mom relied on him once he was gone. Peter would know what to do. They possibly wouldn't like it, would think he’s acting crazy and violent – but at least they would know what to do. Derek swallows the riptide of shame and smacks the memory of his uncle's words back into the back of his brain as he takes Laura's hand and takes them back into the woods.

Malia is repeatedly throwing herself against the barrier. Her shoulder is bleeding. Laura gets down on her knees, to look into the face the little girl. She flashes her eyes, but that only makes Malia snarl at her. No intimidation tactic seems like it'll work, so in the end, Laura and Derek sit down next to the entrance of the cave and talk. Malia huddles against the back wall of the cave, as away from them as she can get. Her blood is a sharp stench in Derek's nose. It's better than smoke.

It doesn't work. Malia doesn't respond to them at all. Derek takes off the barrier and Laura puts Malia in binding. They carry her back to Stiles' house.

The basement is ready. It's a large, cold and damp room, but Stiles and Cora have made a cot for Malia to sleep in and blocked off all the tiny windows high on the wall so she couldn't escape. The twins whine in distress as they try to make the girl smell like pack – and Malia shows a first sign of coming back to herself when she doesn't snarl quite as viciously at them. Once they leave her alone in the basement, she makes noise to high heaven, scratches at the wood and howls as if she's in pain.

At a particularly loud trump, they all flinch and Laura turns to Stiles, who is head deep into the food preserving crate, “If I smell that medication on you again, I will lock you up downstairs with her.”

“No, you won't,” Stiles says quietly, like he can hear the lie in her heartbeat as easily as Cora and Derek can.

“Well, I'll be sorely tempted to! You need to sleep, Stiles. Your dad is worried, we're all worried – _please_.”

It’s the please that gets him, even when Derek's and Cora's haven't. It's the way Laura has said it, so desperately. Stiles nods his assent, exhaling a shaky breath. He'll stop taking his medication, no doubt just so he doesn't cause them any more grief, out of sheer guilt and not because he sees their point, but the relief is still a sweet shiver at the base of Derek's spine.

“Thank you,” Laura breathes out, stunned that it has worked. “Okay, Malia. Mom and dad have gone to see Chris Argent at the Ministry – there's a lot of debate if what Peter did to Kate was self-defense or murder and if the aurors should be looking for him. I don't think I'd be able to get to her right now if I tried. So we should – _Merlin_. We'll go in one by one and talk to her, pull on the bond. Stiles, you should take her food downstairs, that'll help.”

Stiles nods again, though he raises skeptical eyebrows. Food trumps complicated human familial emotions, especially for feral werewolves, though. Laura is right. If Malia doesn't come to herself, and she manages to escape somehow, she will remember the person who's been bringing her food.

Theoretically.

There's nothing they can do, save force her back to humanity. Mom won't do it, it's too dangerous. Malia's retreated for a reason, this is her way to deal with the tragedy that happened. It's important that she's safe, surrounded by the pack. So they’ll wait. They go down one by one to talk to her – at her – scent her, touch her and try and embrace her back into the pack. But all her bonds are shredded and weak, shrugged off forcefully on some strange grieving impulse.

That night, Derek falls asleep with Laura reading something on the other side of the bed, her feet pushing into his thigh, to the sound of Stiles downstairs telling Malia in a voice worn from the use all about the grounds of Hogwarts. He wakes up hours later, long before dawn. Luara doesn't open her eyes but she's definitely awake, and listening - Stiles is still talking. It’s lower than before, ruined from overuse.

Derek gets up, careful not to wake anyone up, goes downstairs. Stiles is sitting with his back to the basement wall, eyes closed. He hasn't heard Derek, busy telling Malia some strange story about a girl having an argument with a playing card. He looks exhausted, and his hands are shaking.

Derek goes to the kitchen, uses his wand to boil water for tea. His throat constricts when he realizes he will never again be able to get into Maya's huge box of different teas, which burned with the house. There's only mint tea here, a few bags of chamomile. It's possible Stiles has some Valierian Root in his potions kit somewhere, but Derek won't go into it without permission. He makes chamomile, takes the cover off the couch in the living room and goes back to the hallway.

Stiles hears him when he steps close, opens his eyes. He offers a twist of mouth that isn't really a smile but doesn't make eye contact. Derek puts the mug down on the floor, sits down back to the basement door, next to Stiles, and throws the cover over them both. There's only silence between them for several long minutes, only Malia's strong heartbeat ringing in Derek's ears.

Finally, he says, “She's just on the other side of the door.”

“She's been listening?”

“We've all been listening. What happened at the trial?”

There is another long stretch of silence. Then Stiles takes the mug and shifts closer to Derek. His skin is cold and he smells like misery and exhaustion. But he leans in, sighs shakily and tells them about all the different testimonies and how the girl wakes up and realizes she's only had a bad dream.

Malia's heart on the other side of the door has steadied as soon as Stiles has started talking again. By the middle of the next story, Cora and Laura and the twins are all huddled close, enveloping Stiles into the calming warmth of the pack from all sides. He never does finish that other story, falling asleep with his head on Derek's shoulder, Cora on the other side, the twins and Laura leaning on his legs. Malia's breathing evenly on the other side, fast asleep as well. Derek lets himself follow.

 

*

 

By the end of the week, they're back at Hogwarts. Laura's taken Malia to Aunt Tessa's house in Waterford. Maya is still in the hospital, but she's feeling okay and the baby is fine. They're just waiting for her to go into labor.

Derek rubs his eyes again. They are using the classroom number three for their history lesson today – they've been using the same classroom since the beginning of the semester. Professor Binns has finally given up, it seems, or at least he’s taking his sweet time tracking them down. Professor Berkley is keeping the classroom too bright, though. There are dozens of lamps burning brilliant and steady, most in the front, around the blackboard.

“The Epoch of Death,” Prof. Bakeley says from her spot, voice a little muffled. “I assume you've heard of it?”

A few students raise their hands. Derek doesn't, though he has, of course, heard the term before, and the related stories. Professor calls on a girl in the row next to the windows.

“It's the nineteenth century, when people wore too much black and took weird photos of dead people?”

“Yes,” Prof. Berkley affirms with an odd little frown. “Yes.”

Her heart rate accelerates the second time she says the word to a birdlike flutter for no reason Derek can see. She's been acting off the whole semester – well, everyone is being a little weird. But while people are usually sad and jumpy, Prof. Bakeley has just become unpredictable in her reactions. Not that she'd say anything, or even show it on her face, but like just now, her body would react – she'd flinch, or lose her breath, and cover her eyes with a hand like she just couldn't stand to _see_ a second longer. Derek has tried to take a good whiff of her scent,  because he can sometimes smell when someone is getting sick early on, but it hasn't helped. She's always worn a little too much perfume, he has no idea what's her natural scent even like. And now that same sweet smell clings to her like a thick syrupy cloud.

She inhales like she's bracing herself, then says, “In the early nineteenth century, a practitioner of Necromancy – one of the dark arts' more obscure branches – had several breakthroughs in quick succession. We won't be talking about his findings in detail, of course. But the result of his success was a rapid swell in popularity of Necromancy. It was suddenly possible to grow extinct plants, even parts of long-dead animals – after a millennium, people could finally get their hands on cocktrice' venom, a feather of a griffin. The Art of Potions bloomed.  For a few decades, everyone wanted to dabble in Necromancy.”

“Even though it's a Dark Art?” Someone wants to know.

“The Dark Arts weren't quite as frowned upon before the Wizarding World saw first hand how dangerous their misuse can be. I know that the first picture every young mind gets when Necromancy comes up in conversation is a wizard powerful enough to raise an army of dead people, but in reality, it takes decades for a necromancer to even become accomplished enough to raise a single dead person for an amount of time – and that's if he was gifted enough to begin with. No, the true power of the Art comes in its potential in recreating of rare and valuable – and therefore terribly expensive – potion ingredients.”

“It's not worth it,” a girl in the second row injects with distaste.  “I heard in order to pass your apprenticeship and become a necromancer, you are not allowed to communicate with anyone in the living world for a whole year! If you say a single word – even just give a hand sign, you fail.”

“Yes, like most of the Arts, it's hard to master. But it was nevertheless very popular in the nineteenth century. So much that the obsession with the dead spilled over into the Muggle world. Because they understand death even less than we do, their imagination filled in many holes in their knowledge, which resulted in an age filled with superstition, odd practices and country-wide fascination with death and everything death-related.”

Because someone is curious, the professor tells them more about the ways the muggles fixated on death – weird photographs and black veils and whatnot. Derek is listening with only one ear. The light is bothering him, and so is the perfume – but worse than that, his mind wanders. It goes to Peter and Violetta, to Malia. To Kate.

The self-inking quill the guy sitting next to Derek is using to take notes stops working. He tries to re-charm it, but it won’t take. That's been happening with an increasing frequency all over the castle – the spells are slipping. Magic has been failing occasionally with a frustrating unpredictability. It's nothing big, the castle is half built from magic and it's still standing, warded and steady, but the little things – the fairy lights, torches in distant corners of the castle, some paintings, charmed objects like quills – most try not to rely on them right now. They will sooner or later dry out and fail.

The headache Derek's been sporting all through the lesson starts disappearing as soon as he leaves the classroom behind. He doesn't usually get headaches, that's something that only appears as a symptom of poisoning in werewolves. Lately, he's been experiencing them from time to time. It dissolves completely as soon as the natural light that's coming through the tall windows allows him to stop squinting at his surroundings. Derek cracks one of the windows open and breathes in, not even sure why he feels like he needs it. Not a single of his classmates seems to have felt unconformable during the lesson.

“Derek Hale?” A voice asks from behind him.

Derek startles a little – he hasn't heard anyone approach. A woman is standing there, with her wand in her hand and her face a practiced blank.

“Yes?”

“Follow me,” she instructs briskly, and starts walking. Her robe is plain black, hair up in a tight bun. There's nothing to help distinguish her, but everyone knows she is one of the Unspeakables who are staying at Hogwarts with the Aurors. They've certainly spent a lot of time up in the Gryffindor common room discussing what they are up to, all day crouching in various corners of the castle and casting one unrecognizable spell after the other. So Derek has no reason not to follow her.

The Aurors have questioned him about the thing with Kate after the fire, they've questioned them all about the night of the fire and about Kate in general. Derek's had the most to say, so he's been talking to the Aurors the longest. They've been kind enough, given the circumstances. Talking to the Unspeakables, though. That's a whole different matter. What could they possibly want with him?

The woman leads him to the fourth floor, where the various employees of the Ministry have taken over a hallway and set up an office to work from. There are three people waiting for them when they get inside, two in scarlet Auror robes and another woman in plain black. The room is warm and sparsely furnished, but there are a couple of comfortable looking armchairs and a sofa. No one's using them, though. Derek hesitates at the door.

“Come in, son,” says the older man. “I'm Auror Williamson, this is Auror Croaker. We'd like to ask you a few more questions, if you don't mind.”

“You're not the same Aurors I talked to before,” Derek says, edging inside.

“No. The cases might or might not be related, but we are now investigating the murders that occurred here at Hogwarts on the 22nd of December.”

They aren't the same Aurors Derek talked to about what he saw that morning, either. He doesn't point that out. It's a huge case, more than one pair of Aurors is likely working on it.

“But we do need to talk to you about Kate Argent,” Auror Williamson continues. “If only to eliminate her from the investigation. Please, sit here and tell us again about her. Everything you can remember, even if it seems irrelevant.”

Slowly, Derek moves. It's a little unsettling, the way the Auror is speaking to him. They are careful to phrase their request so it sounds they've believed the official statement he gave a few days after the fire, which said he didn't think Kate killed those kids. But what other reason would they have to ask about her in detail again?

He sits down when the other Auror, Croaker, puts a hand on Derek's shoulder to lead him to one of the armchairs. They are tall and looming around him, their eye fixed on him like waiting for him to try and escape. It makes the animal in him want to snarl and attack, but Derek has been instructed from the young age what to do in situations like this – he looks away from them and their assertive attitude, consciously relaxes so his itch to bite them into submission isn't obvious in his stance.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything. Start at the beginning. How did you two meet?”

“She came to teach at Hogwarts,” Derek says. The Unspeakable who's lead him here points her wand and casts a silent spell at Derek, quick as lightning. He startles, but it doesn't hurt when it connects to the center of his chest. She doesn't say anything, just focuses on the silvery link between Derek and her wand.

“You didn't know her before that? You didn't meet her, say, in Diagon Alley?” Auror Williamson asks like nothing's happened.

“No.” The other woman watches the silvery link when he speaks, then writes something in her notebook – no quick-quill, she does it by hand. Derek isn't stupid, it's obviously some sort of truth-testing spell. They haven't asked for a permission, and he's pretty sure he could refuse to tell them anything because of it. It's illegal, and he's heard enough of his mother's rants on the inadmissibility of the results of it in court. He'd have said yes if they _have_ asked.

Still. He hasn't lied a word of anything he's said to the Aurors, has no intention to start now. If this will finally let them move on and look in places more likely to hide the real killer of those kids, then he'll let them. So Derek swallows and adds, clearly, “No, I have never met her before my first lesson with her, here at Hogwarts. If we'd crossed paths before that, she didn't make an impression.”

“Did she single you out from the start?”

“No. Not at all. I wasn't even aware she knew my name until a few months later, when I was returning from the library one evening. She was making rounds, and she didn't write me up even though I was outside the common room almost half an hour after the curfew.”

It goes on like that. Williamson asks one question after the other, Croaker stands there trying to look intimidating, the Unspeakable women nod at one another, frown and nod at odd times, write things down, silent and watchful. They go slowly through every single memory Derek has of Kate. And just when Derek feels like he's taken a hundred floo trips all at once after recalling the words Kate threw on him the night of the fire, Williamson asks, in a voice somewhat gentler, “Derek. It would be very helpful if you'd show us some of these memories.”

They uncover a Pensieve in one corner of the room. It's a slick, new one, the engraved runes clear and elaborate.

Derek says, “I don't know how.”

They take it as yes, guide him through the process. They take one memory after the other, all the more important ones. He still has them in his head, even after they're swirling around like mercury in the Pensieve, but he can't feel them any longer. They are like scenes from a book, distant and vague. It's a relief – it's like he's finally free again.

But then Williamson says, “You're coming in with us. Sometimes bits and pieces of memories don't make sense without context, so we need you to be there if we have questions.”

It's different, seeing things from an outsider's point of view. Derek stands at the back of the DADA classroom with the Aurors and the Unspeakables, who are carefully observing every move memory-Kate in the front of the classroom makes. If any of them notice real Derek next to them popping claws to reign himself in with pain, they don't mention it.

Williamson says, “This Pensieve is one of the recently improved ones the Department of Mysteries has made. It's more reliable than earlier versions, it claws deeper into the subconscious, below the mess the emotions that sometimes affect the memories.”

Derek focuses on the younger, purer version of himself. He notices the memory-Derek flinch when Kate says her full name, the frown as he works out whether he should be upset about her being there or not.  But soon enough he settles into the lesson. Kate makes them move the benches and work on ducking jinxes, and memory-Derek forgets all about her last name in being the absolute best in this fun version of one of his favorite classes. He only pays attention to Kate when she gives him instructions.

The Unspeakables note everything away, and they slip into the next memory.

Most memories are pretty much the way Derek remembers them. He hasn't ever been overly invested in Kate emotionally, so there was nothing to cloud his memories, paint them a prettier color. Some details are surprising, though. And some entire memories, little pieces that are so unimportant and small he doesn't remember them at all without the magical help.

The memory of the day they've found the dead children is upsetting. Derek tries to explain the off feeling of the theater room, the odd darkness of the room and the way the sound echoed. They write it down.

The next time Derek saw Kate was the night of the fire. He doesn't really want to see it all again, but he can't say that. So he slips into the memory, smoke enfolds him, chaos and dizziness. He watches the pictures on the walls, scattered toys, his family stumbling around, drugged and confused.

And then he sees Kate.

“It's not real, Derek,” Williamson reminds him. “It's only a memory. Stay with us, come on. This is the important part.”

Before them, memory-Derek surges right for Kate's throat. But Laura is stronger, she is bigger when she shifts, and her eyes glow a deep orange that can almost pass for Alpha red already. Driven by panic, Kate struggles desperately against the ropes she's bound with. It's a good, solid spell, she has no chance in hell.

Kate's panic turns vocal, but instead of a plea, she taunts with a shaky, high voice, “Oh, Derek, how easy you've made this for me. Leaving your doggy stench all over my clothes and sheets - I bet I didn't even need the wolfsbane. I could have walked in like this, just wrapped in your rubbish, and not one of you animals would have sniffed me out.”

“ _No_ , Derek,” Laura's ordering sharply, because memory-Derek is trying to get to Kate again.

“Was this the plan all along?” even as he's asking, memory-Derek is fighting against Laura. His words are barely recognizable, his canines sharp and painful around them. “You were using me to kill my family?”

Kate snorts, “The plan? No, Derek, _this_ wasn't the plan. The plan was you. Just you. You were supposed to form a bond with me, something I could use against you. To break you – to hurt your mother. You were far too clever to let me, were you? So this, right now? This is your fault.”

Laura finally gives up trying to contain him, wraps her claws around his throat and slams him onto the ground encrusted by frost, peppered with ashes. “So why kill those children?” she wants to know, snarling the words in Kate's direction.

Derek can almost feel as the focus of the Aurors and Unspeakables around him sharpens into an intense observance. This is what they've been after, what they wanted to hear for themselves Kate say.

Kate flings herself forward so suddenly, she almost manages to sit up. She's upward enough to scream at them, face twisted and dirty and ugly, “I haven't done that! Why would I? How? I taught those kids, I would never do that to them! And I would never drug werewolves feral at Hogwarts and let them loose on hundreds of my students! I wanted you _away_ from the children, not at their throats!”

“Shit,” Croaker swears quietly.

No one says anything else as they watch the rest of the memory play out. Derek and Laura flinch when they feel Violetta's bond snap, Maya trying not to moan in pain, the others arriving. Derek watches Peter walk around them to kill Kate with a dull sort of envy and fear and tries hard not to hear the words that come after that, because they haunt him at night enough as it is.

A hand on Derek's shoulder drags him out of the Pensieve and back into the real world.

“That'd be all, son,” Williamson says.

Derek nods, hiding his shaking hands in his pockets. He's in a hurry to get out of there, but he still stops when one of the women calls, “Derek?”

“Yeah?” he glances back – it's the one that's brought him there. Her eyes are kind now, soft.

She says, “They're wrong. Kate Argent and your uncle? They are wrong. None of this is your fault.”

She's not the first one to say that. She's not family, she's not _pack_. Her opinion should mean nothing to him. Yet her words hit Derek in the chest the way no one else's have before now – he doesn't believe her, because she's wrong, but she has no obligation to make him feel better, and he is grateful that she thinks it's not his fault. He nods, sees her shake her head at his mechanical response and leaves the room without a glance back.

He has time to get to his last lesson for the day, but Derek speeds through the hallways in the opposite direction. There's no one around to get inside with, so it takes a few minutes before the damn knob lets him enter Ravenclaw, but that means there's also no one around to question him. They can't help themselves, it seems, it's like every single member of the house thinks being in Ravenclaw gives them a blank permission to ask anything and get insulted if denied the answer.

In Stiles' dorm, Derek gets his robes off like the memories of Kate have stunk them up and crawls into the bed. In the face of the bigger problems and the great loss, Stiles’ bullying problems resolved like sea foam. Whether it's his housemates being considerate or just uninterested in bothering someone who doesn't care, Derek is still not sure. But right now, the bed smells like Stiles – like Derek and Cora and Scott, too – and it's good. He buries his face into the pillow and breathes it all in, carefully and slowly and trying not to think about anything, until he's fast asleep.

Derek wakes up when the mattress dips.

“Hey. I've been looking for you,” Stiles says, quietly. He lifts his hand like he's about to touch Derek's hair, then changes his mind with a frown. They've been doing awkward things like that lately, both of them, like they're not quite sure how they fit together. But Derek is too tired to second guess his instincts today, so he reaches for him.

He doesn't need Stiles' scent to tell him he's pleased and happy as he settles against the pillow next to Derek, the smile is enough, but it's still satisfying to be able to smell it. “The Aurors wanted to talk to me again. The Unspeakables, too.”

“About Kate?”

Derek nods. “They... I put my memories in a Pensieve for them.”

Stiles groans, his hand squeezing Derek's fingers. “They're wasting their time. God.”

“I think they got that now,” Derek tells him, remembering their faces when they heard Kate scream at Laura.

“They should have gotten it before. Are you okay?”

Right now, Derek is pretty okay. “Better. Your scent helped. It's just been a long day, they were at it for hours. And I wasn't feeling that well in history before that.”

Alarmed, Stiles repeats, “You weren't feeling well? Why, what happened?”

“I don't know, it's all those lamps she's been putting up. It's too bright, it makes my head hurt, especially when I sit in the front.”

Stiles hums, settles in more comfortably. “You could have found me. You should have. We could have taken a nap together.”

“Next time,” Derek promises, warm. His mind starts drifting. He's about to fall asleep again.

“All those lamps...” Stiles murmurs, a faraway note to his voice. “Have you noticed, she doesn't walk around the classroom anymore?”

“Who?”

“Prof. Bakeley. She used to walk between the desks every time she talked, like she was too nervous to sit and lecture, but now she stays at the teacher's desk, start to finish.”

Now that Stiles has brought it up, Derek can see it, too. “She's spooked by all that's been happening. Everyone's being weird.”

“Hmm?” Stiles frowns at Derek, and his mind is barely there. He's thinking furiously about something, paying only half his attention to their conversation. “Oh. Maybe. How does she smell?”

“Sweet. I guess. She always smells sweet. It covers her actual smell.”

“Sweet like pound cake?” Stiles asks, lifting himself off the pillow. “Or sweet like wolfsbane?”

Derek thinks about the scent. “More like an unfamiliar type of jasmine. And also alcohol and oil – it's perfume.”

“A perfume strong enough to block your sense of smell?”

Derek opens his eyes to look up at Stiles, who is biting his lip into a swollen plump and scowling furiously. “I never actively tried to map her scent before today, I don't know. She just smells sweet.”

Stiles drags himself out of the bed, despite Derek's soft whine at the loss of contact. “I want to talk to her.”

“Why?”

“Because... I've been looking into the history of magic and castle building in the middle ages all this time and it never once occurred to me that there's an actual history professor around I could ask questions.”

“That's not all, though. You think there's something there?”

“I think she's been afraid. She knows something.”

Derek sighs, throws away the covers. He doesn't feel like getting up. “Okay. Let's go.”

“Derek. You look like hell,” Stiles says. He sounds surprised, but then it's pretty dark in the room, especially with the curtains down. He might only be getting a proper look now. “You're not going anywhere.”

“You're not going anywhere alone.”

“Come on, there are aurors everywhere. I just want a chat, I'm not gonna go in there accusing her of anything – it's Prof. Bakeley!” Derek is shaking his head, so Stiles sighs. “What if I get Cora to come with me?”

Derek pauses. “You have to promise me you'll really get her.”

“I promise. And if I don't find her, I'll get Erica. Okay?”

Derek doesn't like Erica that much, but she's a lot better than Stiles going anywhere alone. “Or you could catch some sleep with me, and then we can go together.”

“Oh my God, you're making too big of a deal out of this. I talk to people all the time without a chaperone, Derek, yes, even about serious stuff. I promise not to wander the castle alone. Get some sleep, I'll wake you up to tell you everything, word for word. Please.”

Derek kind of wants to tell him to keep it for himself until morning, because he still feels sort of scratched open with a rake. He just nods instead, sits back on the mattress. He rubs his head with his fingers, but the headache is only a memory and he can't rub anything away.

Stiles leans over from the other side, one knee on the bed. His fingers wrap around Derek's chin, and when Derek looks up, he's smiling. “I'm only curious, and I won't take long. I swear. And then I'll come back here, because you obviously need a lot of cuddling. Okay?” Derek nods once, gets a long dry kiss for the effort. “Okay, then. Go back to sleep.”

“Find Cora!” Derek calls after him, then lowers his head into the pillow that now smells acutely like both of them. He's asleep almost instantly.

 

***

 

Stiles doesn't want to bother Erica, who is busy catching up on a few transfiguration spells for tomorrow under the threat of detention, and Cora is nowhere to be found.

Okay, at a careful reexamining, it might be possible Stiles has made only a cursory attempt at finding Cora – he climbed the Gryffindor tower, looked around, asked some girls if she was in her dorm. It'd be really useful if these pack bonds came with an inbuilt point-me charm.

The thing is, it's getting late. Professor Bakeley might go to bed, and then Stiles won't sleep all night, full of questions. She knows something, he's sure of it. The thing with an unusual darkness lingering at the sights of the murders are something only Derek has been insisting on – he's told the Aurors, back when they visited over the break, but it's never reached the papers. Maybe it's a rumor among the staff, or something, but it's still odd.  All of the sudden, Professor Bakeley is surrounding herself with dozens of lamps at all times, and she's acting weird. And there's been something terribly wrong with Derek and Cora after they've had classes with her lately. It's only once a week, so the pattern hasn't been so easy to notice, but when Derek so clearly stated earlier that he's been feeling off _in history_ , it occurred to Stiles that it's only thehistory class they've been complaining about.

So, there's something about those lamps. There is something she knows, and isn't sharing - at least not with the general population.

Classroom number three, where they've been having history lately, is right in the middle of everything. The Headmistress' office is just a hallway away, and it's near the courtyard the Hufflepuffs use. Someone's always up and about in that part of the castle. He hasn't found Cora, but Stiles decides to head that way anyway. If she's acting too suspicious, he'll leave. Or make a lot of noise, at the very least. And he won't be accusing her of anything in the first place, just ask about the lamps and her opinion about the sacrifices. It'll be fine.

Professor Bakeley is still in the classroom, thankfully.  It's been dark for a few hours already, the sun setting early in winter, and lamps and torches are everywhere, lit. Her classroom is still a lot brighter than the rest of the castle. It has been a few dozens of lamps the last time Stiles has seen her – during the day - but now, that number is more like a hundred. The glare of them is strong enough that he needs a few long seconds of blinking and squinting before he can make out the lithe form of Prof. Bakeley at her desk.

She's got her head in the crook of her arm, on the desk. She's probably fallen asleep.

Stiles walks to her, slowly. The wicks flicker and hiss with every step he makes, but she doesn't stir. The air smells sweet, like cheap perfume and burned sugar. It makes his stomach turn, once he's close enough to inhale a lungful of the scent every time he tries to breathe.

Maybe Derek is wrong. Maybe the lamps aren't what's making him ill, maybe it's been the smell all along. If Stiles is finding it hard to bear with his plain, human nose... Huh. No wonder Professor Bakeley is not walking between the desks any longer.

Some illnesses are followed by strong, unpleasant smells. Stiles doesn't know much about it, but he does remember spending a lot of time at the hospital when his mother was sick. He remembers that some people smelled weird. Not like this, but...

“Prof. Bakeley?” He calls, tentatively.

His voice has been quiet yet she startles like he shouted at her, her long hair flying as she straightens quickly enough to give herself a whiplash. In the pool of all the light, there should be no shadows on her. Her face should look pale and ghostly, but it doesn't. There is a deep dark darkness stretched across her neck and half her face. It pulses red in places when she breathes in.

It's like a shadow of something alive, something that should be standing between the two of them in order to cast a shadow like that... but there's nothing there.

“I – I lost my textbook,” Stiles says quickly, his voice quivery and reflecting the horror rising in him. “I thought it might be here, but it's not. So. Sorry I woke you up. Bye.”

“Mr. Stilinski,” Prof. Bakeley calls before he manages to turn around and God, she sounds so normal, mild and young. “Is there something wrong? Have you... seen something?”

He licks his lips. “Like what?”

She gets up from the chair. The shadow rises with her, as if attached. She smiles, though it looks pained. “Like something you shouldn't have?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

She whispers, “You're lying.”

The red pulse of her shadow flares in response, like a confirmation. Like a damnation.

Stiles might be afraid, but he is not stupid. He says, “I need to go, Prof. Bakeley,” and he's already moving toward the door as fast as he can without running. The door close before him with a loud bang. He turns back to her, reaching for his wand at the same time. He's trapped inside.

She doesn't look like she's getting ready to fight. She's just standing there, looking at him sadly.

“I'm sorry,” she says. “It's out of my hands.”

Well. At least he can go out asking questions. “What are the lamps for?”

She lifts her hand to touch her shoulder briefly. Her hand is shaking. “It... doesn't like darkness.”

Okay, so that shadow does belong to something. “So what are you going to do with me?”

“I've tried avoiding this at Hogwarts, you know. I don't enjoy hurting children. But you've left us no choice.”

“You don't enjoy it…” Stiles repeats slowly. “But it was you, wasn't it? You murdered those kids in the theater room, didn't you?”

“I did not murder them, Mr. Stilinski. A murder is a senseless act, it accomplishes nothing. The lives of those kids were the price I had pay if I wanted to make this world a better place. I've spent my whole life preparing for it, straightening my will. Recreating one ancient ritual after the other, making sure I understood every aspect of the old magic.” He voice is firmer now, even a little passionate.  The slight upturn of her lip turns amused. “One might say I've become quite an expert on the history of magical practices in the process.”

Her use of 'it' and 'us' blend together with Stiles' memory from one of her classes last semester. “You tried to summon one of those things?” What were they called again? “A divinity?”

Professor Bakeley smiled wanly at him. “Yes. I mean to use its power to _help._ ”

“But, what? It's gone wrong, like you said it always does?”

She laughs. “No. Not at all. It went just right. The horror of it, though. The horror of the success was not portrayed well enough in any of the books that warned people off. It's afraid, it's hungry, it doesn't understand this world at all so I can't use it as I planned to. And I'm bound to it.”

“Bound?”

She pulls her robe off, moves the blouse underneath. Instead of her skin, Stiles can see something else there. It's hard to focus on, like it's hidden so deep in a shadow he can't see the edges of it. It reminds Stiles of a parasite of some sort, attached along her shoulder and the arm, black with pulsing red veins. Something like a short tail is hanging limp past her elbow. It doesn't look like it has an awareness, more like a magical type of cancer that's growing out of control.

Stiles' throat won't work well enough when he tries to speak again, it clicks and drowns his voice.

She says, “It forces me to add more and more light all the time. It's never enough.”

“W- why?” he manages.

“Come closer, Mr. Stilinski,” she instructs. “Sit here.”

He doesn't move. He doesn't want to come closer to her. With an impatient huff, she waves her arm – the one that has the thing attached. His legs stay locked as he slides toward her, across the classroom, like in a bad Dracula movie, so fast it burns his toes through the shoes where they scrape the floor.

“Sit. Down.”

He sits on the bench she's indicating, shaking all over. “Are you gonna kill me?”

“Light isn't the only thing it hungers for. It wants magic, too. So, no, I won't kill you yet. I need to dry out your core first.” She pets his head, just for a second, and black spots murk his sight at the contact. “You are a clever boy, Mr. Stilinski. You would have grown up to be a great wizard. It's a shame.”

He clears his throat again, manages,“Yeah, and you feel so beat up about it, no doubt.”

She looks down at him with surprise, like she can't believe he'd even say something like that. “Of course I regret this. I've told you – I don't want to hurt children. Or anyone. I go out of my way to find magic to feed it away from Hogwarts, whenever it becomes too obvious something is sucking up the magic here. I've tracked down the worst of the magical community, the killers and rumored Death Eaters, the trash that only takes up space.”

She's actually telling the truth. However crazy she sounds, it's true that the one thing those killed in the last few months had was a history of criminal behavior. The murders are very ritualistic – overly so, Peter thought. He was sure it was just for show, because it was so over the top and the ritual hasn't evolved at all or escalated. He was right. She only made it look like a ritual to distract the investigators from the drained magical cores.

“How noble of you,” Stiles says, though his voice is still tight with fear.

“Don't you worry,” she says, stepping close. There's an aura around her now, like a black halo that sets her apart from the rest of the well-lit room. She puts her arm on Stiles' shoulder. “I promise I am working very hard so all the sacrifices are worth it. I will cure all illness. I will stop all the wars. Just stay still and let me feed it.”

There are spots in his vision again. The black thing is shifting under her blouse with a hiss that sounds like pouring water on fire. She's only been at it for a few seconds yet he feels weaker already, heavy and sleepy.

He should be panicking, afraid for his life, but he isn't. Instead, he feels like he's falling asleep. He thinks of his dad back home, about Derek sleeping in his bed. Will Derek feel it when Stiles dies? God, will he feel guilty about that, too?

Can Stiles make him feel it? He's pulled on the pack bond before – the whole pack. Maya was there, too, but still. He might as well try.

He clutches his wand – Prof. Bakeley has her eyes closed in concentration, she doesn't see him. He closes his, too. Derek is asleep in his bed, and Cora is close by, too. The rest of the pack are still trying to put themselves together after the fire, all wrapped up in one another and seeking comfort. And Peter is somewhere out there, all alone and grieving. Stiles thinks about them all, and also about what Prof. Bakeley said about the thing she's summoned hating darkness.

He doesn't say the incantation. He doesn't have to. Magic swells inside his head and bursts through in the form of one of the weather charms they've learned in Charms. A strong wind like an enclosed hurricane rises around them and grows, thickens, until her hand isn't on his shoulder any longer. Until there's nothing but thick, musty darkness all around him.

And no matter how much he tries, Stiles can't make out even a single shape, completely lost in it.

 

***

 

Derek wakes up, fear so tight in his gut he might throw up. He's up and stumbling toward the exit before his eyes are even open, Stiles' pack bond yanking him forward like he has a slipknot around his neck.

Someone's hand lands on his shoulder, “Hale? You alright?”

He doesn't know the guy, he's older, maybe a seventh year. A Prefect, apparently. Derek allows for the hand on his shoulder to stop him for a moment. “Stiles is in trouble. Get the Headmistress – the aurors!”

The guy blinks, exchanges a look with someone over Derek's shoulder. “How do you know that?”

“Pack bond. I can _tell_. Just...”

The hand falls from his shoulder. “Alright, okay. Where is he?”

It's an effort to focus on the bond without following it to the other end, but Derek closes his eyes and tries anyway. “The... first floor?” God, shit. Stiles has gone to see Prof. Bakeley. “Classroom number three.” 

He doesn't have any more time to waste, has to run - but behind him, he can hear the guy bark out, “You, Stewart, do to the fourth floor and get the aurors. Someone go to Gryffindor and fetch the girl Hale. I'll find the Headmistress.”

“I'll go to Gryffindor,” says another voice. Derek isn't sure about the guy's name, but it's one of Stiles' roommates. “I'll get Scott McCall, too.”

They're on it, so Derek picks up his pace as he descends the stairway leading down. He's running hard. When he reaches the first floor, Cora catches up with him. Somewhere in the back of his brain, Stiles laughs, _'makes sense - less wind resistance, you know?'_ and maybe it's pure panic, but he keeps up with Cora as they turn the next corridor. The classroom isn't that far anymore, they're almost there...

Only before they reach it, Stiles' pack bond just... diminish. Like someone's put a muffling spell on him, only it's more than the sound they've hushed. It's Stiles' whole existence. It's like he just isn't there anymore – like maybe he took a portkey to South America or something. To the bottom of the ocean.

Cora and Derek both slow down, and from the look on her face, she's feeling it, too.

“He's alive, though,” Cora says, and maybe it's meant to be reassuring, since the bond _is_ clearly still there, but it comes out as a question.

“Yes,” Derek snaps, willing it.

Shoulder to shoulder, feeling lost without the panic on the other end to guide them, they cross the last hallway to reach the classroom. The door is locked. Cora grabs for her wand, but it's an old wooden door and with all that fear still forcing his blood to pump hard, Derek just breaks it in. The part where it locks stays attached, but the hole in the wood is big enough to let them through.

Stiles isn't in there. He has been, his scent is still thick in the air, but he's not there any longer. Prof. Bakeley is. The classroom is dark, illuminated only by the torch from the hallways – dark in the way the murder scenes were dark. Like the shadows are alive.

Maybe one of them ate Stiles.

Derek startles at the thought, and Cora casts a lumos behind him. The shadows still swirl around them, heavy and distracting. Prof. Bakeley is unconscious, half under one of the desks in the first row. She smells more like she used to, less sweet. Derek crouches next to her, Cora steps close. The light falls on her laying form, long dark hair spilled over her face, untucked robe, the muggle clothes under... a black smudge on her neck.

Derek pushes away her clothes a little. Her skin looks burned over her shoulder, blackened. It's smooth to the touch, though. No scars. It smells slightly sweet once Derek takes his hand back, like Prof. Bakeley did that morning. It's fading quickly.

Voices are approaching the classroom. They come in with loud questions and stomping feet, but the call comes clear and loud over the noise. It's a howl, a well-familiar one.

Prof. Sinistra's stern face demands an explanation and Derek and Cora stumble through their explanations in turns, with a new sense of urgency.

They have to finish this and be on their way because Peter is waiting.

 

*

 

Peter doesn't look like himself. His hair is loose, falling around his chin, dirty. His eyes are... off. Derek can't tell what's wrong with them, but Cora's face flashes with some sort of horror when she takes the first look at their uncle before she smoothens it back and Derek feels it, too.

“Malia's okay,” he says when Peter fails to say anything, just looking them like he's not completely sure who they are. “She's with Aunt Tessa and Laura.”

“Malia...” Peter says, eyes distant for a moment. “Is not the one I am worried about.”

“Stiles,” Derek agrees.

“The other one, though,” Peter continues like he hasn't heard. “The one you two came home reeking of after New Years. I am worried about her.”

Cora looks back at Derek. He shrugs.

“Peter. Why did you call us out here?”

They're in the Forest. It's dark – it's _late_. The Aurors didn't really question them much, they listened to their story about the pack bond flaring with fear and panic and then diminishing. Up there, at Hogwarts, everyone's still looking for Stiles. Even the students. Prof. Sinistra has left to check Stiles' home. Derek and Cora have looked for a while, too, followed his scent as he left it around the castle, checked the spots he used in the past.

They've known they wouldn't find anything. Stiles just isn't at Hogwarts. He isn't anywhere.

“To find out what happened to Stiles,” Peter says, like it's obvious.

“He's alive,” Cora snaps. “I can – I mean, I'd feel if he wasn't, right?”

“Sometimes, alive is the worst thing you can be.”

“That's very comforting, uncle Peter,” Derek says, squashing the fear. “Do you have any idea where he is?”

“Well,” Peter cocks his head, thoughtful frown on his face. “He's away, obviously.”

“Where?” Cora growls. Even mad as Martin Miggs, Peter is frustrating.

“Elsewhere. How would I know where?”

“How do we get him _back_ , then?” Cora demands.

Peter rolls his eyes at her, a shadow of his old, normal self flaring in. “By finding out how he slipped through and reversing the process. Or going to fetch him personally, I guess. What did happen up there?”

“He went to talk to Prof. Bakeley,” Derek says. “He was supposed to get Cora to go with him, or Erica because he thought Prof. Bakeley knows something about what's been going on.”

Peter raises his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“She smelled weird. And she kept all these lamps lit...” Derek trails off, because Peter nods like he understands not just what Derek's saying, but much more. “She doesn't smell weird any longer. But there's a – a mark, on her shoulder? Like...”

“Something was detached there and it's left a smudge?” Derek doesn't say anything, because that's oddly specific. “Well. There's your culprit, then. Your history professor. She's the one who killed those children - and everyone else, in a manner of speaking.”

Cora makes a face at Derek. It's half _Do you believe him?_ and half _This doesn't help us bring Stiles back!_

But Peter is right, like he so often is, despite the mad eyes and the dirty clothes. They need to know what happened.

“So you're saying that she did something to him?”

“I'm saying that he did something to _her_. Haven't you felt how much power he's sucked from the pack?”

Cora nods, but Derek just stares at them. “There was only fear. Panic.”

“Your type of bond allows for more emotion to seep through, it's made you blind. Wherever Stiles went, Derek, he went with a bang. He undid what Prof. Bakeley had done.”

“Like... the murders?”

Peter purses his lips, disappointed. Like Derek and Cora are just so below his level of conversation. “The summoning.”

“So you think he's - where? Whatever – thing – she summoned, he sent it back – and went with it?” Peter offers a small, sarcastically congratulating smile and Derek feels so cold. So heavy. “And how do we get him back? How do we open the door again?”

“Don't look at me, I've never summoned anything, less alone something from another realm. It is obviously Prof. Bakeley's expertise. We should ask her.”

“How?” Cora snares, her temper flickering back to life. “The Aurors have got her! They – do you think they'll get him back?”

“Maybe,” Peter snorts. “After a few years of careful experiments, in the lowest basement of the Ministry.”

“So what do we _do_?”

“We need to talk to her before they take her away,” Derek realizes. “We need her to tell us everything she knows.”

“Are you ready to kill four innocents if needs be, nephew?” Peter says mildly, loftily. Derek looks away, because he's not sure. He's not completely sure he won't do it. If needs be. Something deep inside him is trying to claw its way out for half a chance to kill. If that's what it takes. If that's what makes him whole again. Peter nods, “You chew on that, then. But first things first. We need a chat with our lovely Prof. Bakeley. Get on that, children – and think twice before you involve your parents. It'd be a shame if this rescue mission ended before it even starts just because it's potentially dangerous and there might be casualties.”

He turns from them, sinks back into the heavy shadows of the Forest.

“Where are you going?” Cora demands furiously.

Peter's voice flickers, quiet and amused. “To take a bath, obviously.” That's followed only by the sound of a quiet, smooth apparation.

Cora asks, voice shivery with rage residue, “What are we going to do, Derek?”

He feels the tension in his back, already tight, though he's only now making the decision. “We're going to kidnap Professor Bakeley from under aurors' noses and run away from school. And after that, whatever else we have to.”

“Well, I know _that_ ,” Cora says impatiently. “I meant, Merlin. They're trained aurors. And the Unspeakables are around, too. How are we going to pull it off?”

“I think,” Derek says. “I think it's maybe time for Hogwarts to finally see exactly what real werewolves are capable of.”

He doesn't know why his mouth stretches wide, he's keeping the shift at bay, but the smile doesn't feel like amusement. It feels like a promise.

And Cora reflects it perfectly.

 

 

***

 

 

There's something in the room with him. Something with a lot of legs - a lot more than two or four.

But it's so dark, Stiles can't see it. Or where he is. So he's pressing against something solid with one shoulder and listening to the sound of something moving around the room. It's slow, careful – but it's getting closer.

The time's lost all meaning and parameters much sooner than he's expected. Jill Bakeley doesn't seem to be nearby any longer, but Stiles doesn't think he's at Hogwarts. He remembers the sensation that overcame him, it was not unlike pushing your hand into some fine sand. Madly, he thought he got caught in quicksand, sinking right through where the floor used to be. It was more like a passage into someplace else and now he is on the other side of it, awake and breathing.

But the time is passing by, and his eyes are not getting used to the dark. Derek's necklace isn't working. He's set it back and forth a few times, not caring if it got him straight up to Gryffindor tower or to the middle of the police station back home, but the only thing that’s allowing him to know it's not broken is the feeling like a hook that yanks on his insides every time he tries to activate it.

So it's not the necklace. It's him. He's broken somehow. Possibly dead.

And there's something lurking, taking its sweet time to get to him. He can't afford to wait any longer. He has to move.

Holding onto the solid surface – it feels like a stone wall, just like they have at Hogwarts – Stiles gets up to his feet. The wall is lush and slimy under his palms, but he holds on. The thing in there with him halts its circling, quiet. He moves, slowly, following the wall.

The thing starts running, towards him. Stiles freezes, on a verge of panic. A moment later, he's engulfed in a cloud of bright blue smoke. It's so sudden, he starts blinking it away but his eyes adjust easily. And he can see the thing – a centipede-like creature, body long and thin, mouth open. It's waiting for something to happen before it pounces. Stiles looks around widely.

It could as well be a Hogwarts classroom. It's cluttered with broken and rotting things, but he recognizes old chairs and desks in a pile not far away. And down on the ground, just to the left, even in the bluish barely-light, he also recognizes his wand. It fell through with him.

Not thinking, Stiles dives for it. The thing retreats, it gives him space, like it's not a predator after all. It doesn't go far, though.

Stiles ends up on top of his wand, as he's miscalculated the dive. It buzzes with magic as soon as it comes in contact with him and he'd cry in relief, he really would - if he could afford a moment. Wherever he is, there's magic and he's got his wand. It'll be fine. He'll be fine.

He turns to face the centipede creature, wand firmly in hand. It's just standing there, in the low but clingy glow. It's clearly some sort of bioluminescence mechanism, and Stiles doubts it's to help strays such as himself find their way. He doesn't know what the creature is waiting for, the cloud it blew on him doesn't seem to be harmful.

“Lumos,” he says, and the wand produces light. It's not very bright, but it makes the creature skitter away in a hurry. And he can see more.

He can see the familiar arch of the windows – but they're dark like ink and you can't see outside. He can see a broken blackboard in the corner, a single red and white muggle sneaker, child-sized.

It looks like it's Hogwarts after all. Maybe like Hogwarts fifty years into the future, different and abandoned. He pokes around, keeping the creature in sight. Everything is broken in here. Everything is old. If not for the unnatural lack of all light outside, he'd have no doubt he somehow traveled to the future. As it is... He has no idea.

But he is at Hogwarts, still, no matter how different this variation of Hogwarts is. That's something. It means he's not completely lost.

The door is rusted away and sealed shut. There's a hole in one corner – the entry point for the creature, obviously. It could be big enough for Stiles to get through. He petrifies the creature in its corner, afraid to let it out of his sight. Then he puts out the lumos and tries to unlock the door with his wand. The mechanism clicks loudly under the spell, but it won't open for him when he turns the knob. They've rusted shut.

Stiles thinks about blasting them open. That's bound to be loud. There could be other creatures around, more dangerous than this one. He summons light again, drops low, peers through the hole, waits. It's a hallway, like he's been expecting. Nothing makes noise out there, nothing moves. Stiles drops to his belly and crawls out like that. His shoulder catches for a second, and he almost panics, but nothing comes to use that weak moment. Safely on the other side, he lifts his wand in the air and looks around.

Yes, definitely Hogwarts. Some dark, silent, crooked variation of it, anyway. But he knows Hogwarts, he knows its halls and rooms, nooks and corners, and at least he won't get lost. At least he won't get ambushed. Hopefully.

The whole place looks abandoned and broken. The windows in the eerily silent corridors are blackened out, except for those looking onto the courtyard. Those windows are merely dirty and when Stiles wipes the glass with his sleeve, he can see the vague shapes of the arches and a headless statue in the middle of what’s supposed to be the lawn.

There’s a sound behind him and Stiles turns around, wand at the ready. It’s that thing again, the centipede. It’s moving slowly, keeping to the wall, but it is moving. Stiles’ spell has already worn off. The thing seems spooked now, so he lets it crawl closer, wand blinking the yellow light of lumos. The creature stops once it reaches the circle of light the spell is forming, as if content to just stay out of the darkness. Stiles looks at it carefully. He knows it’s not actually a centipede or anything he’s ever seen before, so he should probably note everything he can about it. For science, or something

It’s like the thing is made from tiny spikes. Tiny wooden spikes… No, some of them give off a reflection, it looks more like metal. Curious, Stiles steps a little closer. The creature doesn’t move, but he stops breathing as the understanding sinks in.

They are matches and needles. Every single spike is half wood, half metal and they look exactly like those first unsuccessful attempts at transfiguring matches into needles. It’s like this creature collected them all and it’s using them as a shield.

Or, possibly, it’s made from them.

No one keeps those unsuccessful attempts, though. The professor always just vanished them when Stiles was in his first year and learning the spell. Just like he vanished that chair that fell apart after too many repairing spells. Just like everything that can’t be fixed gets vanished - desks, and blackboard, chairs and pretty much everything else Stiles has seen so far in this place.

He has somehow managed to vanish himself into this Garbage Place by pulling on pack’s magic and he has no idea how to get back home. 

Hoping the house elves vanish food to the same place, Stiles turns around and starts walking. The match-needle creature follows him carefully as he turns a corner that is leading deeper into the building, towards where should be the kitchens.


	5. Chapter 5

Peter’s call has also attracted the Ferals.

All three of them are waiting at the edge of the Forest for Derek and Cora. Boyd is leaning against a tree, eyes standing out in the darkness. Isaac is hovering over Erica’s shoulder, likely because she looks about ready to shift and attack.

“Where is he?”

“Can’t you feel it?” Cora snarls a challenge back.

Instead of enraging Erica further, it just draws out a confused expression to flash across her face. “He’s away? But. I don’t...” 

“Neither do we,” Derek admits. Their bonds are much stronger than the one she has with Stiles, but she deserves to know that she isn’t out of the loop because of it. Besides, maybe she’d be willing to help. They could use some help. “He went to talk to Professor Bakeley. Then there was…” 

Derek doesn’t know how to explain, but Cora seems to be following his line of thought about getting Erica to help, so she says. “He was panicking. I guess she was the one who killed those kids. He - I think - in his panic, tapped into the pack magic and hurled it at her. He knocked her out, but something else happened and he disappeared.” 

“Yeah, that explains why the aurors took her into their chambers,” Isaac says when Erica doesn’t react. This, Derek thinks, is his first time to hear the guy talk. “We heard they are waiting for backup - Harry Potter is supposed to come, too, but he’s been out of the country for some reason. They want tests done on her right here, before the magic of the Floo messes up their readings or whatever.”

Cora’s hand closes around Derek’s sleeve and she pulls on it, hard. We have to hurry, that gesture says. 

“Peter says that there was some sort of portal opened and that Stiles is on the other side. We need to ask Professor Bakelay how to open it again, because if they arrest her first, we’ll never get a chance.” 

“So you’re going to kidnap her?” Isaak asks, eyebrows up in a skeptical arch. 

“Right. I’ll help. Let’s go,” Erica decides, turns on her heal. 

“Wait,” Boyd says clearly. He is not loud, but she does stop to look at him, despite the obvious worry, nerves and eagerness to do something. “We’ll all help. But you need to do something for us in return.” 

“ _What?_ ” Cora bites, as Erica hisses, “Boyd!” 

He holds his hand up. “We can’t _be_ like this anymore. We need a pack.” 

“I’m not sure what you want from us. We can’t just make you a part of the pack.” 

Boyd nods, because of course he knows that. “You can get your mom to put in a good word for us with packs that might be open to new packmates. We’ll do whatever it takes from there, we just need to talk to people who might be interested.” 

Derek thinks about it. The rumors that follow these three are everpresent but plenty of people make sad noises over their fate. And anyway, he’s pretty sure Stiles already had a plan to pester mom about it, once things got a little bit calmer. 

“We’re about to royally piss mom off, though. I can’t promise to be in any position to ask for favors any time soon.” 

Boyd looks kinda defeated, but he’s moving to stand by Erica. 

“Look,” Cora interrupts, apparently afraid they’ll change their minds. “If you actually help us with this, we’ll do what we did with Stiles. We’ll take you in ourselves. Stiles already has a bond with Erica and I’m sure Laura will help, at least. Between the four of us, mom won’t really have a choice - she will either decide to take you in or she will have to actively encourage you to form other bonds.” 

That’s a good idea. Their pack is in such a sorry state right now, they could use some fortification. 

“Deal,” Isaac quickly says. 

“Right. Can we go now?” Erica demands. 

But Boyd stops them, again. “No, wait. We need to know the plan first.” 

Derek and Cora look at each other. Cora shrugs, “We go in. We knock out anyone in our way and we grab the teacher.” 

“That’s a terrible plan,” Isaac snorts. 

“What? It sounds good to me.” 

Boyd puts a hand on Erica’s shoulder, close to her neck. It calms her down a little. “No. We need to separate them. The aurors are plenty capable of putting werewolves down, and we don’t even know what the Unspeakables can do. There is no way, probably, to draw everyone from where they’re keeping her, someone will stay to guard her, but we can make sure at least not all of them are there. Improve your odds.” 

That is a good plan, but, “How? How do we do that?” 

“I’ll go grab McCall and have him report something they have to see in person. They’re obligated to investigate because they probably still aren’t sure what happened. And then the three of us will make a lot of noise on three different ends of the castle. We’ll try not to get caught, but if we are…” 

“Claim grief,” Cora says. “How can they know if you had a packbond with Stiles or not? We’ll confirm it later if we have to. Tell them you felt your packmate missing. As long as no one gets hurt, they can’t do anything but try to calm you down.” 

“Alright, thanks.” 

“What if the backup comes in the meantime? What if they’re here already?” Isaac wants to know, but he doesn’t sound too unsure or afraid. 

Boyd shrugs, unconcerned, like just the vague hope he’ll have a proper pack in the future is enough to keep him grounded, “All the more reason to go through with it and separate them.” 

“Let’s go then,” Cora says, starts walking. 

Everyone follows without another word.

 

***

 

The kitchens have been a little harder to find than Stiles anticipated. The huge connected rooms are almost exactly where they are back at the real Hogwarts, but not quite. 

There is a lot of food in various degrees of rotting down there, but it doesn’t smell as bad as Stiles has been expecting. Everything seems dull and blurry out here, like all his senses are somewhat muted.  Even as he’s standing there and frowning at the huge pile, a fresh bun appears under the pale light of his wand. It’s misshapen and unevenly baked because of it. Stiles has never seen a bun like this one at Hogwarts - he’s always thought that magic made sure all food is perfect, but obviously, the elves just got rid of the evidence. 

He feels watched. It’s been bad in the hallways, but it’s even worse in here. And the pile of food might be huge, but it’s still not quite as large as it should be. 

Stiles has suspected that the needle-toothpick creature isn’t the only thing out here, but this tells him something more important - they need to eat. Just like he has to. They come here often; there are probably at least a few of those things with him here now. He grabs the bun and a green apple with a black spot on one side and bolts out of the kitchens. 

He isn’t sure what he should do now. Find a corner and hide in it? Explore? 

He is curious, a little, about this place. More than that, though, he is afraid. He doesn’t want to see any other creatures that live out here. Just thinking about getting somewhere, in a small room, alone, with his bun and apple close and his wand closer is making him less tense. But he can’t afford to do that. 

The windows are out of the question because he can’t see anything through them. They might as well open right over an abyss, if they open at all. Hogwarts, as it is in his own world - reality - whatever, has more than a dozen of exits, including a few ‘secret’ ones. It’s as good a guess as any Stiles can think of right now, trying them all. Even if none of them work, learning more about this place can only help him. 

He sets toward the main exit, just a few halls away. The caterpillar-thing, the needle-hedgehog - hah, Sonic - keeps following after him, just outside of the circle of light that his wand casts. 

Stiles tries his best to ignore it and keeps walking.

 

***

 

It takes some time to prepare, but once Scott and Allison drag away two aurors to ‘show them something very important’, things go fast. Erica starts howling first, from the dungeons. Derek can hear some kids two hallways away panicking, running. 

Isaac goes next. His howl comes from the outside the castle. He’s near the greenhouses. 

Boyd is the last to make noise. He’s also outside, in one of the far courtyards, near the clock tower. 

Hogwarts descends into chaos quickly after that. Everything that happened recently is still fresh on everyone's mind - it doesn't take much to cause fear and mayhem.

Cora and Derek are hiding behind a statue in the main hallway on the fourth floor. They watch a group of aurors run toward the main staircases, seven of them. As per Boyd’s suggestion, they wait for a little while and then go toward the office Derek’s spent the better part of his day in. 

When Derek knocks on the door, one of the Unspeakables answers. She doesn’t close the door in their faces. “Do you two know what’s going on?” 

“They sensed Stiles missing, probably.” 

“What should we do?” she asks, and even though Derek is busy listening and smelling how many people are inside with her and where, he’s still a bit grateful she’d ask. 

“They’ll deal with grief better once they’re all together,” Cora tells her. 

She nods, steps outside, locks the door behind her, “Can you two help get them?” 

“They’re not dangerous, they’re just _sad_ ,” Cora says impatiently. “We want to talk to someone about what happened to Stiles. You’re looking for him but I know…” 

“Later, Miss Hale,” the Unspeakable interrupts, and turns away from them. She’s bought it and she’s leaving them to help her colleagues. 

Once she’s too far to hear anything, Derek looks at Cora. She nods, and they both shift. The door is locked, but they don’t bother with the lock or their wands. The heavy wood breaks apart easily and Derek goes right as Cora goes left. He goes for the other Unspeakable first because she’s an unknown element. The aurors are surprised but quick - but Cora is like the wind and they fall to the floor one by one, unconscious, unused wands still in hands. 

On Derek’s side, one auror manages to cast - he’s good, he doesn’t automatically try to stun them, he’s using a spell Derek doesn’t know - but they both duck and avoid his attempts. 

The three aurors and the Unspeakable are all down in less than a minute. Derek doesn’t pause, he throws the door they’ve been guarding open. Professor Bakeley is there and she’s still unconscious. He grabs her, puts her over his shoulder and Cora heads out first, looking out for anyone who might want to stop them. 

They meet some students on the way, who give them a wide berth but don’t try to get in their way. It’s good enough. 

They get out through the main entrance, as they agreed on. Once outside, Cora and Derek break into a run. Derek has to apparate all three of them. He hasn’t ever done side-along before but there’s no time to be nervous about it. They appear behind Stiles’ house. Cora doesn’t look surprised even though they haven't discussed it. But they both get a surprise when the back door burst open and Laura runs out, frantic. “What happened? Where is Stiles? What’s going on?” 

“Why aren’t you at Aunt Tessa’s?” Cora demands. 

Derek asks, “Is Mr. Stilinski home?” 

“I - Malia - he is, yeah, why?” 

“We kidnapped this woman and I’d prefer if he isn’t involved.” 

“Too late for that, son,” a new voice joins them - of course, Laura flew out of there, he must have followed her. Malia is standing at the door, too. “Where is Stiles?” 

“We need to put her in binds,” Cora says. “She’s dangerous, but she’s our only hope to find Stiles, okay? We need to put her in binds first, then we’ll tell you.” 

To Derek’s relief, no one’s arguing. They move inside, prop Prof. Bakeley against a wall and Derek and Cora, in turns, explain what happened. Laura has also felt it and she’s been trying to reach Hogwarts but Malia still isn’t completely well so she couldn’t leave her alone with Mr. Stilinski. 

“You can’t stay here,” Mr. Stilinski says as soon as they finish. Derek is a little surprised, but the man adds, “They will look for you here. Is there any other place you can go to?” 

They look at each other helplessly, Laura shrugs, “I can’t think of anything.” 

Mr Stilinski rubs his face. He’s very upset, very afraid but somehow still calm. “Take her to that abandoned house at the edge of town. I will have to stay here and wait for your police to come so they wouldn’t suspect anything and I’ll join you after that.” 

Derek’s feeling pretty tired after taking two people with him the last time, but Cora doesn’t know how and Laura doesn’t know where the house is, so he takes Miss Bakeley side-along again. It’s easier this time because it’s much closer. 

The house is just as dark and unapproachable as he remembers it. Someone might come along so Derek doesn’t have a choice but to break the boards put over the door and wait for his sisters. Inside, next to that huge fireplace in the room in which they found the body, Peter is standing. He looks over his shoulder at Derek, “Took you long enough. Put her down.” 

How he figured out they’ll come here, Derek has no idea. He follows the instruction though and takes a better look at Peter. He’s definitely cleaned up since the last time Derek has seen him. 

Peter walks over until he’s standing right next to the unconscious woman, wand in hand. 

“Well, then. Are we ready?” 

Derek takes an instinctive step back.

 

***

 

Stiles throws small pieces of the bun to Sonic. The creature carefully moves toward it, slow and fearful. Stiles makes sure he’s still and doesn’t startle the thing. He’s feeling better once it starts eating because of something Laura told him when they were coaxing Malia back into the pack. The feeding hand is important. It’s less likely a feral werewolf would eat you if you feed it. 

No reason for that not to work on this thing, right? 

There are other living things out here as well. It’s too dark to see them, even in the murky - but steady - glow of his wand. Sometimes, he can hear them move. He can hear paws and hooves and wet slithering of something huge that almost makes him run away in panic.   

Everything else is still. Dead. No wind outside. 

Still, he moves. Making up theories and thinking about how this Hogwarts is almost exactly like the real thing, except when it's obviously not right, is what he lets fill his mind. It keeps panic and desperation at bay so he explores, keeps himself busy. 

Sonic follows.

 

***

 

Laura is horrified and Derek is sick to his stomach. Cora leaves the room.

None of them stop Peter. None of them care for her reasons, or for her noble intentions, even as she shouts them out.

And none of them understand most of the choked, bloody responses Peter forces out of Professor Bakeley’s mouth. 

“The Martins,” Peter says mildly. 

Laura’s sitting on the stairway, hands balled up and pressed into her mouth. She looks at Derek whenever Peter says something vague and confusing, like now, but he can't help her understand. 

Jill Bakeley snorts in disgust, forcing more blood to drip down her face, “Lorraine tried to summon back the soul of her dead girlfriend during her summer vacation from Hogwarts. With the power of a _witch circle_.” 

“It didn’t work?”

“Of course not. That’s not enough power. She had seven witches that almost died during the ritual, she opened the portal on Halloween, when it’s easiest to do it, and the only thing that got through the portal was a tiny dog. It wasn’t even a real dog, just some tiny thing. It’s still running around in their backyard, at least according to her son.” 

“He talked to you? He told you all that?” 

“He did. I wanted to put his memories in a Pensieve, but his magic was off. It kept canceling out my magic. He talked to me willingly enough. How his mother never loved his father, still grieving her old girlfriend, until he gave up and left them. How she spent years researching and planning and never managed to undo whatever went so wrong to affect her magic during the ritual.”

“And the dog?”

“I haven’t bothered to look further. What does it matter to you?” 

Peter looked at her like she is crazy. “The dog is misplaced.” 

“What?” 

“The magic always tries to balance itself. Stiles yanked on the pack’s magic in a desperate attempt to escape you and he ripped through the veil instead of apparating across the castle.” 

She breathes out, “Because that thing did not belong here. Because it was unnatural for it to be here…” 

“The magic used the first chance to squeeze it out of this world.” 

“Well, I guess there is hope he will find a way back,” she says, with relief that seems honest, even eager. “He doesn’t belong to the world he’s in, so it will be trying to get rid of him. All he needs to do is…” 

Peter interrupts her by casting a healing spell. The blood remains, drying, on her cheek, but the wound disappears. “He is a fifteen-year-old boy who is trapped in a strange world he doesn’t know the rules of. He is probably wandless - or his wand doesn’t work. We will not leave him there.” 

“There is nothing you can do. You might be able to open the portal, but you will never know if it will lead you to the right place.” 

“You are wrong,” Peter says. 

Derek can still feel Stiles’ pack bond, dim but present, and he knows what Peter means. 

Jill Bakeley opens her stained mouth, takes a second to realize his meaning, “The pack bonds? He barely even counts, you really think that will work?” 

Peter opens his mouth, but Derek says, “I can make him count more.” 

Peter turns, almost surprised and Laura says, “ _Derek_ ,” sharply. He’s sure, though. After everything he’s screwed up, he’s more than ready to do something right. 

“What?” Jill wants to know. 

Peter explains, but he’s frowning deeply, probably calculating if it will help. “He’s talking about the mating bond.” 

“I haven’t heard of it.” 

“The bond is a practically forgotten practice. It’s used to force closeness in arranged marriages, to ensure children. The bond has telepathic and empathic properties. Werewolves sometimes use it when they form a mating bond with a human, because of the unfair advantage their heightened senses give them.” 

“Derek,” Laura says quietly, urgently, “It might not work. It might not work _in time._ You could die. Half-bonds are always dangerous.” 

Derek ignores her, asks Peter, “Would it help?” 

“I can’t be sure, of course, but I think it would help. And I think it would definitely help his chances to survive long enough for us to get to him.”

“The full moon won’t be for…”

“It doesn’t matter, it’s just a spell. The mating ceremonies are normally performed under the moon for other reasons. It won’t make a difference.” 

“Can we do it then? Can you perform it?” 

“I don’t know how,” Peter admits. “But I can learn. Derek, come with me. Cora, you need to get your friend Lydia to come here with her ghost dog. If that thing came from the same place where Stiles is now, it will help a lot. Laura, make sure this woman doesn’t escape. We need her.”

“Peter, you are risking Derek’s life over - look, I like Stiles. I know he saved us from that fire. I want him back. But this is insane.” Laura knows she won’t win and she sounds like it. No one even answers her. 

“What should I tell Lydia?” Cora wants to know. 

“Whatever you think it will work. Let’s not waste time. Derek?” Peter is offering his arm and Derek wraps his hand around the forearm and lets his crazy uncle apparate him away.

 

***

 

The main stairway at Hogwarts has always been scary, but right now, Stiles is rethinking his decision to try to reach the higher ground. It’s an endlessly dark abyss and he’s stuck in it, with nothing stretching above his head and below his feet. There are no sounds, nothing to see, nothing to smell. There’s nothing.

Well, there’s Sonic, still trailing after Stiles one step after the other. And while the constant presence of the creature has been unnerving before, Stiles welcomes it now, glad for it, grateful.

He keeps climbing.

 

***

 

Peter takes them to Knockturn Alley, not far from that shady Apothecary Stiles was so curious about on Christmas day. Peter seems a little more like himself, so Derek asks, “You know someone who can teach you?” 

“No,” Peter says. “But I know where I can find a potion that will mimic the effects of it. The good side of it that it doesn’t last as long. The bad side is that it will be an illegally procured potion and therefore unsafe.  But you will take it anyway.” 

“I will,” Derek confirms, because it’s true. Peter could have gotten a potion by himself but he wanted Derek to be away from Laura so she would not stop them. 

Peter keeps walking. “It won’t be easy, Derek.”

They go into the Apothecary. The smells in there are absolutely terrible - it’s an unnerving combination of things dead and rotting, unfamiliar sea animals that reek of the sea and sea salt and there are so many different herbs. It makes Derek’s nose itch. 

“Mr Hale,” the clerk says when Peter approaches the front desk. There’s very little light so far back in the store, but a few of the grungy jars in the endless line seem to reflect it. There’s a thick layer of dust everywhere.  Derek listens to the quick, coded exchange between Peter and the clerk, but he doesn’t understand most of it. They’re talking about the grade five ingredients and proper storage methods. Peter finally leans over and takes the purple potion, and for a moment, Derek is sure he’s clawing the desk. 

But he’s not, not really, he’s only imagining that’s because of something Stiles said once.

They leave the store. “I’ll go get something of Stiles’ - a hair out of his comb should do nicely. You make sure you eat something light and drink some water. It won’t help, of course, but you might as well get some nourishment while you can.” 

“Is it that unpleasant?” 

Peter lifts the potion bottle from his pocket just long enough for Derek to catch a glance of it. The purple of it is brighter than it was inside the poorly lit Apothecary. 

“It’s not meant for werewolves. It’s meant to either imiate the bond or, bought illiagly like this, for pure-blooded gentlemen with misbehaving wives. A teaspoon of this gets you insight into the general health, whereabouts, and very private thoughts of the person whose genetic material you mix into the potion. Some core ingredients cause fever, and in small amounts, wolfsbane can help battle that in humans.” 

“A teaspoon?” Derek asks hopefully, because he’s not looking forward to drinking it, no matter how willing he is. 

“A teaspoon,” Peter confirms, then adds, “At a time. Until we either find Stiles or - as is more likely - I learn now to cast the spell. Speaking of which…”

Peter enters a door - a random door in a small alley. It’s a bookshop, but all the books are old and second-hand. 

“Don’t touch anything,” Peter instructs and Derek hopes Stiles never enters this shop, ever, because on the other side of it, there is a woman hissing in pain because the book she was looking through has spat acid into her eyes. Or something. Merlin knows what else can be found on these shelves. 

Peter takes less time in here and they are on their way back soon. 

Laura knocked out Miss Bakeley at some point. She’s pale and angry. Derek is pretty sure she had a fight with Cora - and that she lost. Mr. Stilinski hasn’t arrived yet. 

“Where is Peter?” Laura demands, voice low. 

“He’ll be right back.” Derek looks around the empty room. “I think I’m going to need to lie down for this. Is there any furniture in the house?” 

“There are some chairs in the kitchen,” Cora offers. Derek has seen how wolfsbane affects werewolves so he’s sure that won’t cut it. He won’t be able to stay seated. He goes looking as they wait. Cora comes along to help him. Laura stays in the main room. 

They find an old mattress in one of the rooms upstairs. It smells old and moldy, but it will have to do. Once it’s downstairs and tucked in a corner, there is nothing left to do but wait for Peter. Derek is nervous. He’s trying to hide it, but he’s pretty sure his sisters are too upset and anxious themselves to notice anyway. 

Peter comes in almost half an hour later. He apparates directly inside, just off the staircase, says, “Aurors at the Stilinski house. Lydia?” 

“She’s not home. I couldn’t find her. There's no one there.”

Peter stops mid-step, just for a second. He frowns, takes something out of his pocket and starts pouring the fine dust out of it in a pattern. “Fine. We can go around that but we have to hurry. I will use my wand to open a portal. Cora, get ready. You will have to go through.” 

Laura jumps to her feet. “No! Absolutely _not_ , Peter! Mom would…” 

Peter stuns her. It’s dead quiet after her body hits the floor - Derek is just as shocked as Cora is, but he does understand why. Laura is - well, she doesn’t get it. Maybe someday she will, but today, she's just in their way. 

“Cora?” Peter prompts. 

“Yeah? Yeah, I’m ready. What do I need to do?” Cora says, but she looks at Derek, worried. 

“There is no time to do the spell - Peter found an alternative, but I won’t be in any condition to go,” Derek tells her. “I have to drink a potion that mimics the mating bond.” 

“Mimics and _amplifies_ ,” Peter says, still making patterns on the floor. “But the bond will still be created and therefore the link between Derek and Stiles strong enough to guide the portal.” 

“It has a bit of wolfsbane in it,” Derek tells Cora. “Only a little, I’ll burn it out. But…” 

“Right,” Cora whispers, visibly shaken. “I can do this. I’ll get him back.” 

Peter finishes and, apparently satisfied with his work, takes the potion out of his pocket. It’s now split into two very different looking vials - there's maybe a mouthful in each. “A bit of your hair, Derek. Put it into this vial.” 

“Stiles has to drink this as well?”

“If only you took it, it wouln't imitate the bond, it would simply allow you to get some insight into Stiles' current situation. Not to worry, he’s not overly sensitive to any of the ingredients. He’ll handle it better than you will. Hurry up.”

Derek follows the instruction. The potion remains a lovely purple after bubbling up a little. Peter hands him over the other vial. “You will drink all of this when I say so.” 

“You said a spoonful.” 

“That was when I thought we’d have the girl to help.” Derek is not sure he believes Peter. It doesn’t matter, though. He’ll drink it either way. “Cora, you take this. Keep it in your hand - the last thing you want is for it to break. Come inside the circle, Derek, and drink the potion.”

Derek moves inside the circle and carefully drinks one half of the potion. Peter is not with him inside of it, but Prof. Bakeley is. Cora moves, as if to get the teacher out, but Peter is closer. He is quick as lightning as he gets his wand out and casts a simple cutting spell - the same one they use in the garden, Derek thinks hazily - and slices her throat. 

Cora makes a terrible sound - like a startled sob - but Derek can’t react at all. The wolfsbane in the potion hits him hard and fast, and he’s feeling so dizzy and weak all he can do is lower himself down. There is more wolfsbane in the potion than Peter said there would be. 

“What - how? Uncle Peter!” Cora is demanding, voice full of panic. 

“Get ready!” Peter snarls at her.

Derek can hear them, but it's like he’s underwater. Much stronger than their voices, than the fire the poison has lit in his limbs, is how afraid and lost Stiles is feeling. How utterly alone. 

“It’s so dark,” Derek says, mostly to Peter, in case he’s got to know this. “And he’s alone, all alone, but also, also… At Hogwarts? Maybe?” 

“Close your eyes and focus on the connection,” Peter says, but Derek is already as deep as he can go. 

Peter starts chanting. It’s in a language Derek doesn’t recognize, doesn't care to listen. And when the portal opens, he can feel it, he doesn’t have to look - the air feels oppressed and his nose is full of the scent of blood and the herbs. 

“Peter,” Cora shouts over Derek’s head. “That’s shrinking - that’s there’s no way it will stay open long enough!” 

“It will be easier to hold once Stiles drinks his potion,” Peter says, his voice muted and far away. 

Derek feels his nausea overwhelm him and he struggles to turn his head. He can’t, not quite, but his stomach empties anyway. There’s something black - the by-product of his body trying to push out the wolfsbane - all over his face, over his nose and mouth. 

“Shit,” Cora hisses, wipes his face with a sleeve. 

“Move, Cora!” Peter demands from the distance. 

“But Derek…” 

“Move!”

She stands up and Derek opens his eyes to try and encourage her - but something crashes into Cora from behind and she stumbles over Derek. Derek can do othing but keep his eyes just open enough to watch as Malia grabs the potion from the air like a snitch and continues running toward the portal.

“Malia!” Peter yells, yanks his wand back. The portal starts closing, fast, but Malia is faster, and light as wind, and she doesn’t acknowledge Peter at all as she runs right through the inky black hole in the air.

Just a second or two after she’s disappeared through it, the portal closes. Peter looks like a white marble statue, Cora is - for the first time in years - crying. 

Derek closes his eyes.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles has lost all sense of time but his body is telling him that it's been long. He’s failed to get any water so the looming headache is not surprising. What is much worse, he’s dozing off against a wall in one of the broom closets.

The little room has no door so he drags an old-fashioned - even for Hogwarts old-fashioned - desk to partially block the gaping hole. It feels safer in here because he can kick out and make sure nothing is in there with him.

Sonic has curled into itself in the hallway, not far from Stiles. It’s quiet and dark, and even though it’s also cold, Stiles has been drifting off. He’s been trying to fight it with all his might - it’s not safe, he doesn’t feel safe - but once you pass a certain point of exhaustion, it doesn’t really matter as much. The brain needs to shut down.

But the sleep he falls into is not restful. He startles awake often, sometimes from a nightmare, grabs his wand that stopped glowing while he was unconscious. The light penetrates enough of the darkness to assure him he is still alone in the room and as soon as the adrenaline wears off, he’s nodding off again.

When he startles awake again he thinks for a mad second that it’s morning because for the first time since he got here, he doesn’t need his wand to see. It's nothing of the sort. There is a light coming from somewhere down the hallway, from the direction of the grand staircase and there’s a noise - maybe someone shouting? - but he’s too far away to make it out.

For the first time since they met, Sonic leaves Stiles’ side to slitter off in that direction. Stiles pushes away the makeshift door and takes after it, but the light is already disappearing when he gets to the end of the hallway. The light disappears completely but he manages to see where it was coming from - two floors down, near the arch leading into Slytherin territory.

He starts descending, Sonic back at his side, when the call comes, “Hello?”

There is someone there, a person - the voice is female but Stiles doesn’t stop to analyze it before he calls back, “Hey! Up here!” 

“Stiles?”

Someone came for him - is it Cora? It doesn’t sound like Cora but…

He can’t go as fast as wants to because he can only see a few feet around himself but he can see something moving up the stairs in the darkness. They both stop, staring - what the hell is Malia doing here?

But it is her, it's definitely her, eyes wide and scared. She sniffs, like she’s making sure it’s really him, before she lunches at him and grabs him around the waist one-handed, like they are friends. 

“What are they?” she demands, forehead against his shirt. “There’s so many of them!” 

“I don’t - they haven’t attacked me or anything - what are you _doing_ here?” 

Malia pulls away from him, looking somewhat more settled. Maybe his scent helped, all that time he spent reading to her when she was stuck in the basement. “Peter opened a portal - here, you have to drink this.”

He takes the corked vial from her, examens it in the low light. “What is this?” 

“It’s a bonding potion. Derek already drank half of it - that’s how Peter knew where to find you or something.” 

“Bonding potion?” He’s never even heard of it. 

“There’s wolfsbane inside, so Derek couldn’t come get you himself.” Malia glances over her shoulder. “Stiles, they’re coming closer. There is something really big out there, over our heads, is it, will you…” 

He leads her into a corner, where she can at least feel a wall behind her back. “So when I drink this, a portal will open?” The girl is quiet, so he prods, “Malia?” 

“I think - the portal was supposed to stay open and the potion was supposed to help with that. But Peter - he was really upset when he realized I’d was going through. I think he may have let it close by accident.” 

Stiles puts a hand on her slim shoulder, squeezes. “He’ll open it again. If he opened it for me, he will definitely open it for you. Don’t worry. “ 

“Yeah, alright.” 

She doesn’t sound alright. “What?”

“He killed a lady to open it the first time. I don’t want him to…” 

“What lady?” 

“The teacher, Miss. Bakeley? Some girl and her dog were supposed to help, but Cora couldn’t find her so Peter just - something is following us really close, you realize? And it smells, Merlin, so disgusting.” 

Stiles snorts a little, “That’s just Sonic. It’s like my pet.” 

“Your pet really wants to eat you, you idiot,” Malia tells him. 

“Yeah, I think it’s decided I was too big to attack and it's now waiting for me to die.”

Malia looks at him like he’s insane but doesn’t do more than growl at Sonic when it comes close. It skitters away but keeps following them from a safer distance. 

They sit on one of the ancient broken branches they push in the corner, not far from the spot where the portal opened, just in case. 

“So what’s a bond potion?” 

“I don’t know,” Malia shrugs, then adds, “It’s supposed to imitate effects of a bond so you and Derek are better connected.” 

A bond? “Pack bond?” 

Malia sighs at him, like he’s being ridiculous, “ _Mating_ bond. You know, marriage.” She glances at him worriedly when he doesn’t answer. “It’s not supposed to last forever, you know. It just imitates the bond. But you’ll probably feel exactly like you would if you got bonded.” 

“So I just drink it?” 

“That’s what Derek did,” Malia nods, shifts so she’s pressed a little closer - Stiles can’t blame her, he also feels a thousand times better with her there. “And he knew where you were, that it’s dark here and maybe Hogwarts - but there’s wolfsbane inside it so he was really ill from it - Peter said you won’t take it that hard but…” 

“But?” 

“But Derek was _really_ sick. So I think Peter meant that you’ll get sick too, just not…” 

“As sick. Great, lovely.” 

“Stiles, we have to - we need to move. They are surrounding us and they’re coming closer. It’s like something is going to jump on our heads. I don’t like it.” 

It was a little easier when he had no idea what those things were up to, honestly. And while he’s too tired to walk around aimlessly, she is probably right, they should. So Stiles pushes himself off the bench with a sigh and picks a hallway he thinks will eventually loop back here - if it is the same as back home, which is not definitive. 

“You’ll drink the potion, right?” 

“In a bit, yeah.” 

“Why?” 

Stiles gives her his lit want to hold. The light is brighter when she takes it - either her magic is stronger, or more likely, he’s been getting himself drained constantly summoning lumos. 

“Well, you said Peter probably closed the portal on accident, right? That means he’ll need some time to regroup and find a way to open another portal.” He doesn’t say it but they are both thinking it - Peter is probably going to kill someone else. “And the effects of the potion are going to wear off after some time. It’s probably designed to last longer, but no one’s ever tested how it works cross-dimensionally. It’s probably harder for the magic to maintain a bond like that, right?” 

“I guess.” 

“So, I’ll give them some time to regroup and then drink it.” 

That is all true but also… He’s already exhausted and he's supposed to get sick from it - if he passes out, she’d have to stay out here practically on her own. 

After they’ve been walking for a while, Malia lowers her head and says, “He’s going to kill someone else.” 

“He’d kill half the world for his pack,” Stiles tells her. It’s meant to be one of those things you just say but he means it. I know it’s true in the way Derek and Cora can sense but would never really understand. He carefully doesn’t look over at Malia but he’s sure anyway that she’s just as relieved Peter would kill for them as he is. 

It’s not easy to realize you are not really a good person at your core but that realization is easier to push down in the half-dark of this broken, bleak, forgotten world.  
  


***  


It’s hard to rise to the surface. He’s floating a sea of darkness, fear and confusion that’s coming from Stiles and it feels like a betrayal that he’s trying. 

But the pain is not that bad, not any longer, and Derek knows the only way to actually help Stiles - and Malia - is to be useful. His skin feels clammy and hot and his stomach is rebelling every time he tries to move. 

He hears someone move in the background, light-footed and quick. It’s Cora, he’s certain, which with the retreating pain in his head means that the wolfsbane is almost out of his system. He can’t quite force himself to open his eyes yet so he listens to her curse and try to talk to Peter, who doesn’t respond. She comes to kneel at Derek’s side after that, touches his hand. He squeezes her fingers and she exhales sharply. 

“Okay, okay, you’re gonna be okay - I don’t know what to do, Derek. Should I wake Laura up?” 

Derek curls his fingers again, doesn’t think he’s capable of telling her that she definitely should, that she shouldn't sit around here alone because his mouth feels stuck and tastes like acid and wolfsbane. She walks over to where Laura is but before she can try to eneverate her, there’s a series of fairly-familiar steps, fast and determined. 

“Oh, thank Merlin,” Cora says, going to meet Mr. Stilinski at the door. 

“What? What’s wrong?” 

“Everything’s wrong! Peter’s not responding and Derek is so sick I think he might be dying and Malia _is gone!”_  

Cora is in no condition to be explaining what happened to Mr. Stilinski but the effort Derek is making to get up just results in a fresh wave of a headache and muscle spasm. 

“Calm down, Cora,” Mr. Stilinski says in a firm tone that remains Derek that he’s a Muggle auror, fundamentally. “What happened to Malia?” 

“She went through the portal?” 

“Where?” 

“To where - to where Stiles is? I hope. We think? But Peter just collapsed after she went through, he is acting really strange.” 

They walk into the room as she’s talking and Mr. Stilinski goes right to check on Peter. “He’s in shock, I think. What about Derek? What happened to him?” 

Cora is more reluctant, but she’s still responding to the quiet Alpha-like authority in his questions, “Derek drank a potion that made him very sick. There was wolfsbane inside. It’s - well, it’s supposed to imitate a mating bond. Malia took the rest of the potion to Stiles.” 

Derek doesn’t think Malia found Stiles, because while he can feel an echo of him on the other side of the bond, it’s too weak. He hasn't taken the potion. 

“Mating bond? Why?”

“It’s only supposed to be temporary!” 

“A surprise marriage is not my priority right now. I assume there’s a purpose to it?” 

“Oh,” Cora says, more subdued. “It’s so we can follow the strong bond to where Stiles is. So we can find him.” 

“Like a magical fixed rope, then. Alright. What happened to Laura?” 

“She’s just unconscious. Peter didn’t want her interfering. Should I wake her up? I should probably wake her up.” 

“If you can, that would be very helpful.” 

Cora’s voice is shaky when she casts the spell but it works. Laura wakes up smelling sick and heavy - she’d stay under for a long time without an interference. With how much time Peter spends relaying on books and his intelligence, it’s sometimes easy to forget how powerful his magic is. 

“You’re still here,” Laura says. 

“Malia went through instead,” Cora tells her. “He killed Ms. Bakeley to open the portal, Laura, and the portal then closed and he won’t respond to me!”

“Easy now, come on. Tell me what happened, but slowly.” 

Cora does, this time in more detail, and neither Laura nor Mr. Stilinski interrupt until she’s done. 

“I think we need to get your parents here. Laura, please, we’ll keep an eye on Peter and Derek here. Can you go get them?” 

Laura says, “Water can help flush out wolfsbane but I don’t know about Peter.” 

“Your family might - but it’s probably just shock. We’ll keep him warm and safe but I would appreciate if you could take his wand away first, please.” 

That’s good thinking, as uncomfortable as it is to leave someone without their wand. Peter hasn’t been exactly sane lately. Laura listens to Mr. Stilinski wordlessly. 

“Cora, there is a bottle of water in my car, on the back seat. Do you think you could go get it? There is also a blanket - bring that too, please.” 

Cora listens as well. Derek tries to move again, and the pain is still there, weakening, but he’s very tired. He manages to open his eyes, and roll a little to the side to watch the room. Mr. Stilinski takes out some sort of mechanical binds from his belt pouch and he puts them on Peter, who doesn’t even try to resist. Peter doesn’t look ill like he did when Malia went through. He is just staring right ahead, no expression on his face. 

Shock, Mr. Stilinski has said. It looks very creepy, like Peter is not even in there any longer. 

Mr. Stilinski takes his overcoat off and throws it over Ms. Bakeley’s face and shoulders. Derek is not sure what that’s supposed to accomplish but when Cora walks back into the room he can practically feel her relax a little as soon as she glances in that direction. 

“Put the blanket over Peter’s shoulders. Maybe do one of those warming spells, if you can?” 

Cora nods, “Will that help?” 

“It won’t hurt,” Mr. Stilinski says, which doesn't really mean anything but it’s enough for Cora to listen. “Now let’s give some water to Derek and wash his face, if we can.” 

They work together and Derek helps them as much as he can. He swallows greedily but Cora has to keep his head up as Mr. Stilinski tries to wipe his cheeks and neck with a mostly clean white handkerchief. 

As soon as he finishes swallowing, Derek turns away from them to throw up again. But it’s fine, as soon as that is out of him, he’s feeling much better. 

“He’s fine,” he says, looking back at Mr. Stilinski to make sure he’s listening because his voice is so quiet. “Tired and scared, and somewhere dark but he’s not hurt. And I’m pretty sure Malia has found him a little while ago.” 

It happened when Cora was recollecting the events for Laura and Mr. Stilinski, a surge of emotions and adrenalin - some fear but also so much hope and relief.  It must have been Malia. 

“You’re not sure?” 

“I’ll be surer once he drinks his potion but - I can feel her presence on his side, like a shadow of warmth or something. I don’t know why he hasn’t taken the potion.” 

“Maybe the vial broke?” Cora suggests. 

That’s a scary thought, even though there is a part of Derek that hates the idea of Stiles drinking wolfsbane. He might not be as affected by it, but he also won’t be able to push it out of his system as quickly as Derek has. 

“The first thing we need to do is get through to Peter, as he is the only one who knows how to open the portal,” Mr. Stilinski says. No one mentions that Peter had to kill someone to open it, but that is the truth of it. Will they have to - sacrifice someone else? Will Mr. Stilinski agree to it? Will mom?

Derek drinks more water as they wait and by the time Cora snaps her head up to a sound Derek is still too weak to catch, he’s sitting on his own. Peter has not moved at all. 

Mom’s presence has never been such a relief and such a trepidation at once. She doesn’t fuss or try to offer comfort - though dad comes to hug both him and Cora, and makes sure they’re unharmed. Mom coldly looks at Peter and Mr. Stilinski, as if they’ve done this together. 

“Is that the Professor?” 

The adults gather around her corpse and Mr. Stilinski removes the cover from her face to show mom and dad. 

“I don’t understand. No one mentioned that my son killed anyone when he vanished.” 

“That’s because he hasn’t. He called on the pack’s magic in his desperation and that was enough - I can only assume that my brother wanted me to stay out of this and has chosen an alternative method instead.” 

“He didn’t think you’d agree to help Stiles,” Mr. Stilinski says, tone accusing. 

“I don’t know if I would have. We haven’t even seen Peter since the fire, and I don’t know how much he knew about what happened. I definitely would not have agreed with the plan to give wolfsbane to Derek or have Cora jump through a portal into a world we don’t know anything about!” 

“This is my son we’re talking about! You made me some promises when I agreed to let him continue to be involved with you people!” 

“I made no promises to endanger my own children for the sake of your child!” 

“Talia,” dad cuts in, gently. “It’s not his fault and it’s too late for this conversation anyway. Malia is out there, and so is Stiles. We need Peter.” 

She nods. Neither one of them says they’re sorry but mom and Mr. Stilinski exchange a look that makes it clear they understand each other perfectly anyway. “I can access Peter’s mind, as his Alpha, but I need to calm down first or I will do more damage than good.” 

“They’re okay,” says Derek in the silence the adults leave, because that is all he can do - update them, reassure them. “They’re moving around and it’s dark and cold but I know Stiles is okay and Malia is, too. He hasn’t drunk the potion, at least not yet.” 

“That’s good,” mom says, a little absently before she refocuses on him. “How are you doing?” 

“I think it’s almost out, I’m fine.” 

She doesn’t ask him what he was thinking, why is he doing this - she might be angry and he will probably get punished - but she understands. She understands him better than Laura, which is rare and a relief. 

When he starts to get up, still shaky but feeling so much better, Laura pushes him down and sits next to him. She’s warm and steady and he relaxes his weight into her as Cora sits down on his other side.

They ignore the parents for a little while, huddled in together. Cora wants to know badly, so Derek quietly tries to explain what he’s feeling - the darkness, the fear and hope, the unsettling feeling of something watching, following. 

Derek catches mom looking at them from across the room. She’s watching them warmly, like how close they are is enough to keep all the anxiety and trouble at bay. 

“Laura,” mom says, “Would you please go get Nate? He should be here.” Laura squeezes Derek’s shoulder before getting up. “Derek, you should go clean yourself up a little. Cora…” 

She doesn’t seem to know what she wants them to do, except it’s clear - she wants them away from here, at least for a while. 

Cora knows it too - or maybe she just wants to be away from the corpse in the room. “We could go to Stiles’ house? Derek can clean up and I can - I can make sandwiches?” 

No one is hungry but Mr. Stilinski takes out his keys and gives them to Cora, “Good idea.” 

Derek and Cora follow Laura outside, where she’s been waiting just long enough to give them a small wave before she apparates. 

“You don’t want them to see this?” Mr. Stilinski asks back in the house - and Derek can actually hear him now. 

“It’s not nearly as gruesome as what they’ve witnessed already today but I prefer them elsewhere.” 

Cora is setting up a pace that takes them out of the hearing range very quickly and Derek keeps up, even though he really wants to know if mom will manage to get through to Peter.

  


***

 

“Is it time?” Malia asks again. 

While Stiles, with a guilty conscious, has found some comfort and relief in her presence, she’s been getting progressively more scared and impatient. She doesn’t really know - and hopefully will never find out -  what it’s like to be out here alone. Having someone repeatedly ask you the same question over and over again is a million times better than finding yourself trying to talk to a hungry hedgehog from another world. 

He doesn’t know how much time has passed since she got through that portal, so he has no idea if it’s time or not. He wants to drink the potion so badly but he’s afraid of it too. It will make him sick. Malia will have to help him and it they are not ready on the other side, if it takes them a lot of time to get ready, he might even die. 

So he leads her in the direction of the kitchens, hoping he’ll find something to drink or at least some more fruit. 

“Let’s go and get something to eat, okay?” 

“I’m not hungry,” Malia says. 

“I am,” Stiles lies, then at her annoyed huff rephrases it, “I should eat, probably. If we find something.” And then, because he knows he can’t postpone this forever, he promises, “I will drink the potion right after.” 

“Is this really Hogwarts?” Malia wants to know after a while. 

“It looks a lot like it. The hallways are mostly the same but…” But there is this off-feeling, strange and chilling, that he’s not sure how to explain. He’s always been unfocortale at Hogwarts at night but he doesn’t think he’ll ever feel that way again. There are lights in the hallways at night back at the real Hogwarts. There is this comfortable warmth and a sense of safety - there are doors and windows that lead outside into the daylight and Hogsmeade and the train station. 

Malia will see all that for herself in the fall so Stiles just looks around to try and find something more concrete to say. “The walls seem weird, sometimes. Like they’re crooked. The doors,” they’re about to walk through one, so he nudheses her, “look, like this one. See how much narrower they are in the bottom part? The floors are uneven, sometimes there are whole parts missing. There are not doors where I know there should be classrooms or storage units. It’s not really Hogwarts, it’s more like something is trying to imitate Hogwarts using discarded parts of it.” 

And as soon as he says it, it makes sense. This is not some sort of shadow of the actual Hogwarts. This is the place where over a thousand years, the broken bits and pieces of Hogwarts were banished to - there was a war, a lot had to be replaced then and countless times before that, there were magical accidents that resulted into rubles that had to be removed. This place where the vanished things go collected all these parts of Hogwarts and has tried to recreate it, just like Sonic gathered all those discarded needles and toothpicks and - and what? Made an armor? Became alive? 

Stiles quickly puts his hand on the nearest wall, suddenly terrified. It’s cold under his fingers but it barely feels like stone. It feels more like those rocks down at the lake, covered in some sort of moss, slimy and wet under his palm - almost _organic._  

He takes out the potion and drinks it immediately, as Malia frowns at him from under the weak glow of his wand. If they haven’t been in any immediate danger up until now that probably won’t change but it’s different. Everything is different when you are suddenly suspecting that you are not in a building but instead inside the stomach - or some approximation of the stomach - of a huge otherworldly creature. 

“We need to find an exit, right now.”

Malia doesn’t say anything. Like she’s just be waiting for him to come to this conclusion, she grabs at his sleeve and tugs him in a random direction. 

Just a few seconds after, the poton hits and Stiles has to lean on her. 

“Well, at least Derek is perfectly okay,” he mutters and Malia grabs a firmer hold of his hand, still walking in the same direction. 

Derek is okay. If the potion made him sick, that’s already in the past because he is okay now. Stiles can’t outright read his mind but it feels like he could, if he tried. He can feel Derek’s emotions like an echo - this worry and fear, the longing and the guilt - if he hasn’t been expecting this to happen, he might have mistaken them for his own feelings, that’s how strong and real the connection is. 

Derek is also warm. Stiles hasn’t even realized just how cold he is, how much colder he has been getting, until there is a reflection of warmth against his skin. 

Once he’s started focusing on physical sensations instead of emotions, there are other things to note. Derek pushes some hair off his foreheads and it feels a little wet and gross, like he’s got some honey on his head. There’s a short pressure against his arm, just above the elbow, that causes a particular combination of emotion - comfort, trust, sympathy. It’s Cora, it’s definitely Cora. 

“I think we can go through here,” Malia says, brings Stiles back to himself. He feels Derek startle, like he’s registered Stiles’ surprise - he’s been looking for so long to find the main entrance but he couldn’t. Malia has led them both right to the grand wooden doorway. 

The shape of the entrance is about right, but there are vertical iron bars with ornamented endings that Stiles has never seen at Hogwarts. The light from the wand is not enough to illuminate the entire thing, no matter how hard Malia tries to hold it above her head. 

The door opens easily enough for them, but it makes a long, shrill sound. It’s cold outside. 

It’s dark outside, the space around them too vast for the wand to be of any help. The pale light cuts through a few feet of fog so they see where to step, but no more. 

The air is still around them, smells crisp and strange and sets in the lungs wet and thick. It doesn’t hurt, it seems to have enough oxygen to do its job there but breathing is a conscious effort. 

“Can you hear anything?” Stiles asks. 

“We’re surrounded by water,” Malia says, no even straining under Stiles’ weight. “But it’s not really water, I don’t know. It doesn’t smell like water, it smells like… Like salad dressing that went bad.” 

Stiles has never had a chance to smell a salad dressing that went bad so he’s no sure what she means. Is it acidic? Are the surrounded by a sea of acid? 

“The only thing I hear is something - like -,” she turns to look over Stiles’ shoulder and he follows her example. 

The sky is not quite as dark as the ground - they can see the silhouette of the wannabe Hogwarts against it, with its crooked towers and hanging terraces. 

“It’s moving,” Malia says, turning away from it, dragging Stiles along. “It’s bending over, like it’s trying to grab us.” 

Her words have a chilling effect on Stiles, cut through the fake comfort of Derek’s echoing presence. He can’t feel it, or hear it moving but he trusts Malia and so he focuses on helping her along. 

They don’t get far because the land stops after a while. There’s an abyss that their weakening light has no chance of exploring but the edge is sudden and sharp before their feet. They’ve no choice but to follow along the line of it, just far enough not to fall over. The ground under Stiles’ feet is rough and stepping on it becomes more painful the longer they walk. Malia doesn’t seem to have the same problem, her speed and dragging don’t waiver for a second. 

Finally, they come across a cluster of rocks. Going around them would bring them closer to the Hogwarts-monster-thing. 

“We’ll hide here,” Malia says finally. “You’re getting heavy and you smell like you’re dying. If I keep dragging you around, I won’t be strong enough to fight it off.” 

Stiles looks back at the huge shadow of towers and spikes. It doesn’t look to him like it’s moving and Malia’s words should be ridiculous - how can she fight this thing? 

There is nothing in him that finds it amusing. He lets the little girls maneuver him so they’re behind a rock, looking through a gap into nothing on the other side. She sits next to him and gives him back his wand. 

“Turn this off.” 

It’s a good idea - the wand light if probably how they can find them anyway. Stiles ends the spell and the darkness swallows them whole - but Malia is a warm, steady presence next to him and Derek’s pulse is raising in anticipation on the other side. 

Even dying like this doesn’t seem as terrible as living like he was before, alone. 

 

***

 

Laura has made it back with Nate before them, though that’s not surprising. It took some time for Derek to get used to the feedback loop - to Stiles borrowing his strength and the bond. It’s not the most comfortable feeling ever, because of all the negativity coming from the other side, but he’s healthy and strong now and he’s glad for this chance to be helpful. 

Peter is awake when Derek and Cora walk into the abandoned house - but not well. He’s pale and still like a statue, even as he turns his head in the direction of the door when they come in, his eyes don’t land on either Derek or Cora. 

“He took the potion - and Malia found him, Peter, she’s okay.” 

Peter nods after a second, tightly. Mom’s obviously relieved that he’s reacted at all. 

“How sick is he?” 

Mr. Stilinski, in particular, is waiting for the answer, worried, but everyone’s now looking at Derek. He closes his eyes to this disaster to examine the information the bond’s feeding to him. 

“Very, I think. He exhausted himself magically even before he took the potion but it seems they found a secluded place to sit down for a while, so…” 

Mom lifts her chin, just a little, “We better hurry, then. Peter?” He turns to look at her, eyes somewhat less glossy. “Tell me we don’t have to kill anyone.” 

“No.” Peter’s voice comes slowly, words stretched like they’re an effort to make. “With the two of them on the wrong side… and the mating bond… The pack magic will be enough. But we should go to Hogwarts to do this.” 

Mr. Stilinski rubs his forehead with the palm his hand. “Is there really time for that?” 

Peter says, “I’m not sure about the impact of the physical distance, but it’s better to imitate the original conditions the best we can. Also, there’s an infirmary at Hogwarts.” 

“I will go first and talk to the Headmistress,” Mom says firmly. “On the road to Hogsmeade, Ethan?” 

“We’ll follow you, go.” 

“You are not going without me,” Mr. Stilinski says, sounding scared and lost for the first time. 

Mom doesn’t even pause before apparating but dad nods, “No, of course not - I’ll take you with me. It will not be pleasant, so brace yourself.” 

Dad takes Mr. Stilinski side-along and Peter follows wordlessly. Laura takes Cora next and then Nate grabs Derek’s elbow, even though he’s perfectly capable of apparating. 

“How are you holding up?” 

Derek shrugs, “Okay. This is gonna work, right?” 

Nate squeezes his elbow and takes them both across the country. It’s night, of course, and Derek’s never actually seen Hogwarts from this far away at night. It’s absolutely stunning. 

Mr. Stilinski is throwing up in a bush. It doesn’t take long - Derek suspects he hasn’t eaten enough in the last few days to really have anything to throw up. He takes a few deep breaths before he finally looks at them, standing there in a half circle. 

“So? What now? Where are we?” 

Dad tells him, “We’re near Hogwarts, but there are anti-muggle wards so you can’t enter right now. Talia is going to see the Headmistresses about it, so you can come inside.” 

“We’re - near the school?” 

Nate shows him, pointing his finger in the right direction, “It’s right there.” 

Mr. Stilinski tries to focus on it but then he shakes his head, “I think I can see some ruins there? It’s not bright enough.” 

Cora takes over, pointing out things he can’t see - the Forest, Hogsmeade and he plays along. Derek stops listening and everyone else keeps quiet. 

There’s a small group of people coming down the path to the gate. Derek recognizes Professor Sinistra and mom, but it’s not until they are already near that he recognizes the auror with them. It’s Harry Potter in the flesh. He’s shorter than Derek imagined he’d be but the frown looks exactly like the one he’s usually wearing when they take his photos for the papers. 

“Mr. Stilinski,” Professor Sinistra offers a head to him. “Unfortunate circumstances, of course, but welcome to Hogwarts. This is our Head Auror…” 

“We’ve met,” Harry Potter says as he shakes Mr. Stilinski’s hand quickly. 

“Mr. Potter’s Fondation is paying for Stiles’ school expenses,” Mr. Stilinski explains, though he’s doesn’t sound too happy about that generosity at the moment. 

“We’ll get your son back,” Harry Potter says but Derek thinks it’s the suspicious, distrustful glance he casts at Peter over dad’s shoulder that makes Mr. Stilinski trust him more than that promise. 

The headmistress takes her wand out. “I will point my wand at you now, please don’t be alarmed.” 

She casts a series of spells before Mr. Stilinski could complain. Derek watches his face when she stops, watches as he takes in Hogwarts, the lake, the Forest. The wonder doesn’t last long but Derek thinks Stiles will want to know all about this moment so he commits every detail of it to memory before following the rest of them through the gate. 

It’s chaos inside because Hogwarts is full of aurors and unspeakables. They all have million questions for them, especially Derek. Peter is busy preparing for the spell under the watchful eye of a whole horde of Unspeakables but the aurors and the healers want to talk to Derek and to Cora. 

They are in trouble - or they will be later - for what they’ve done to get Jill Bakeley away. For now, the healers and the aurors alike want to know what to expect, to be prepared. Answering their questions keeps Derek from worrying too much. 

When they’re finally ready, he’s barely involved. He stands with his pack while Peter is chanting and a bunch of people are observing everything closely. He feels his magic going into the spell with everyone else’s and when the portal starts opening, the crack of insight from the potion induced bond stretches and then breaks open until the connection takes over his every sense. 

He can hear Stiles mouths, “Derek,” with so much relief. 

He can feel Malia move next to him (next to Stiles) and says, “Look!” 

He can feel his (Stiles’) legs shake as she pulls him up to his feet. 

He can see the portal from both sides, but it’s brighter from that other side, clear and beautiful and _close._  

He can hear someone says, “Someone should go through and make sure…” 

“No,” Derek interuts, blindly. “No, they’re coming, they’re close, it’s just that Malia has to…” 

Even before he’s done he hears the portal hiss and people gasp and murmur as Malia drags Stiles through it. Derek and Cora are first there and everyone else follows closely.  Malia gets lost in the crowd but Derek’s not too worried about her. Mom and dad are there to take care of her, and there is a bunch of other people to deal with the portal. 

The healers let him carry Stiles to the hospital wing and Cora follows so closely Stiles actually rolls his eyes at her. 

“I’m not dying,” he tells her. 

He’s more worried about her than about himself, so Derek tries to help, “He’s okay, Cora. A bit nauseous and very tired, but okay.” 

“You can feel that?” 

Stiles finds a more comfortable place for his forehead and he smiles, full of awe and wonder. “It’s insane.” 

And Derek asures her, “I can feel _everything_.” 

Stiles is surrounded by healers as soon as he’s on one of the beds, and a few want to do some readings on Derek as well. He lets them for a while and then he falls asleep, relieved, content and with an echo of the world’s nastiest headache fading away.

 

***

  


a few months later

  


There is no waiting room in the Department of Mysteries. When Stiles has first started coming in there every Saturday, as for the agreement Talia has made on his behalf with the Ministry, the Unspeakables have made a mistake a few times by letting him wait inside the Department. A few million questions, one wrong turn and the resulting incident with the Kirin Scale later and Stiles has to wait for Peter to finish in the hallway outside the Department.   

Everything that’s done in there is confidential - a part of becoming an Unspeakable is making an Unbreakable Vow to keep it all a secret. Probably because of that forced silence, most of the Unspeakables are terrible gossips. They are allowed to talk about the rest of what’s done in the Ministry and so they answer every question Stiles has about how it works and who’s who in great detail. 

Peter comes out of the Department almost an hour after Stiles. There are two aurors and an Unspeakable with him, as always. There is no privacy, not even an illusion of it, and they won’t get to exchange more than a few sentences but Stiles still waits for him to finish every Saturday. If he gets in his few minutes with Peter now, he doesn’t have to take up time and space for the rest of the pack on visitation days. 

Stiles immediately gives Peter a hug that includes a lot of back rubbing that probably looks inappropriate to people who know little about werewolves.  Peter allows it, just barely, even though they both know he needs as much pack contact as possible. 

“Everything alright?” Peter says, which is his way of asking if the Unspeakables treated him okay and restrained themselves from doing questionable experiments on Stiles.

“Fine. You?” 

“I’ll be better in three months,” Peter says with a level of amusement that seems out of place. His Azkaban sentence will be done in three months and he’ll be home but right now, he’s going back to prison. 

“Do you need anything? What do you need?” 

Peter makes a disgusted face, “A few books, if possible? Talia has brought me some last week but her choices…” 

Her choices are designed to torture Peter. She asked Stiles a while back for a list of the worst muggle books imaginable and he made that list for her, because it was funny imagining Peter’s face. It’s not as funny any longer but Talia has kept to it and everyone else are forbidden from getting Peter useful, informative books. Stiles tries to at least send him classics or autobiographies but Talia herself only gets him cheesy young adult dystopian series because she knows they bother him most of all. 

Stiles nods. “Anything else?” 

Peter shakes his head. He still sometimes looks a little distant, a little aloof, but Azkaban is not that bad. The living conditions are much better nowadays and there is an actual hospital wing for the first time since the prison was founded. There are even educational programs but that’s not something Peter actually needs. 

“You can walk with us to the Atrium,” one of Peter’s auror guards offers. He’s not always allowed to do this, so Stiles gladly takes the opportunity. He walks close to Peter, close enough to brush against him and leave his scent on the man’s clothes. The residue will wear off far too soon but every little bit helps. 

From the Atrium, Peter and his custodians floo to Azkaban, or however that works, and Stiles goes in after them and emerges in Prof. Longbottom’s office near the greenhouses at Hogwarts. Sometimes, he brings a short message or a greeting from Harry Potter or the Minister herself but today he just says hi. 

“Don’t take a shortcut through the Greenhouse number 3,” Prof. Longbottom advises, not lifting his eyes from where he’s trying to wash some red slime of his outer robe, “The anthora is in bloom this week.” 

Anthora, or yellow monkshood, is a type of wolfsbane that can bring the heart rate down and therefore stall the shift in werewolves and the professor has been experimenting with it to try and find a less poisonous strain to use in werewolf-friendly potions. 

It’s a lovely afternoon at Hogwarts, warm and golden from the slowly sinking sun. It looks nothing like that other place, not really, but Stiles doesn’t like it when the stone walls of the building is looming over him. That discomfort is nothing but an echo of his fear from the first few days back. He’s used to it now, and he’s ready to get Malia thought it in September, if need be. 

He probably won’t have to. Malia got out of that place better off than she was when she got there - her mother is still dead and her father in prison, but she’s embraced the rest of the pack with a fierce dedication. 

From the entrance in the back that he usually uses on Saturdays, you can see the quidditch pitch. There are a few people flying around the posts, too far away to make out, but Stiles knows it’s Gryffindor team. They always have practice on Saturdays afternoon. That was probably arranged by Professor Longbottom when he grew tired of babysitting Stiles’ friends as they waited anxiously for him to return from the Ministry. 

It works for everyone, because Stiles likes to take a shower first when he comes back, maybe catch up on his homework, instead of answering a million questions for the rest of the day. Still, he squints at the people on their brooms for a moment, wonders which one is Derek. Sometimes he misses the potion-induced bond more than he misses his own father. Derek’s constant, intimate presence grounded him after everything that’s happened, kept him anchored to reality. He could feel it even in his sleep, even in his nightmares of that other place - an echo of emotions and thoughts that were not his, a warmth and love. 

He’s willing to work more than ever so that one day, they can get to that place naturally. 

In the distance, one of the players does an upside-down loop in the air. Stiles smiles, certain it’s Scott - and that Alison is down there, watching him practice. The two of them are splendidly predictable. 

Stiles turns away. His friends will find him later - if he doesn’t find them first - so he enters the castle and takes the stairs right up to Gryffindor tower, where he is allowed to spend as much time as he wants. During the day, anyway, at least officially. 

His bed in Ravenclaw is still a great place when he needs to focus on something, because it’s always quiet and peaceful and his housemates have backed off completely after everything. Most of his friends - his pack - is in Gryffindor, however, so that’s his home and that’s where he wants to be after a long, hard day. 

After a hot shower, Stiles sits next the window from which he can see the sun about to set. He’s tired and there’s no one around, so he starts sinking into sleep when the door opens and startle him awake. It’s Derek, holding a piece of parchment high in the air, obviously happy. 

“Why aren’t you at practice?” 

“Let myself out,” Derek says, “Look at this, mom sent me a letter.” 

“Your mom writes you every week,” Stiles teases, moving to make room for Derek to sit next to him on the windowsill. 

Derek pushes the parchment into his hands with a dry, “Just read it, smartass.” 

Stiles starts reading but he takes too long to get to the relevant information, apparently, because Derek says, “They finally finished clearing out the rubble where the house used to be and they found an oak sapling.”

Stiles, now that he knows what he’s looking for, skims through the letter to get to that part. “So you will rebuild on the same spot?” 

The Hales have bought a house in London and while it’s useful, it’s not home. They have been taking their sweet time deciding about what they are going to do next, apparently waiting to see if the tree was still alive. 

“Yes,” Derek says, eyes bright and pleased. “Not right away, it has to grow and become stronger first. But yes, we’ll be able to rebuild it in the same place where it used to be.” 

Stiles puts the letter aside to kiss his happy face. They almost get to the point of no return when Derek pulls away, looking even happier. “I’ve got detention.” 

Both Cora and him have detention every night for the rest of the year and the only reason they are not expelled and possibly in jail is because Peter said that he manipulated an tricked them into kidnapping Jill Bakelay. No one was seriously harmed - well, except her - but it was still not certain they would be allowed back. Peter also took the blame for the ruckus Isaac, Boyd and Erica made to make that kidnapping possible, which Talia saw as some sort of sign and started bringing them slowly into the pack. 

The three of them don’t have detention on weekends, at least. 

“How’s Sonic?” Derek asks, folding the letter carefully. 

“Bigger every day,” Stiles tells him, like he always does. He’s not sure Derek gets how serious he is because he’s not allowed to get into any details about the things he does with the unspeakables. Sonic has been growing since it followed Stiles and Malia through the portal. They still know very little about the creature and using it as a link to that other place doesn’t seem to be hurting it at all, so Stiles doesn’t feel very bad about it being locked up down in the Departments. 

Derek stands up, “I’ll see you at dinner? Don’t fall asleep, you’ll toss and turn all night.” 

“Sure,” Stiles promises. 

He’s so convincing, Derek stops by the door to sigh at him, “I’ll send Erica to keep you awake.” 

That’s not much of a threat because Erica is a marshmallow. When Derek leaves, Stiles returns to his previous comfortable position. The sun is almost completely down, painting the lake purple and pink. The torches flicker to life all at once and brighten the room behind him. 

Stiles sinks a little further into the cushions, determined to take that nap regardless. Derek’s a werewolf, after all, and he’s got more than enough stamina to suffer an occasional sleepless night and keep him company. 

For now, Stiles can rest.  



End file.
